Only the Faithful
by Tilthanial
Summary: They held the line when the hordes came. They held the line when the gods came. They held the line when the Worldbreaker came. Now they hold the line against a threat they have never imagined. And they will hold the line. For they are Cadians, and they are faithful.
1. And So It Begins

**Author's Notes:**

So here it is, the first chapter in the Mass Effect/ Warhammer 40k crossover I teased back in... October 2016? Well, it's here now. Finally decided to start putting it out.

Some basic guidelines for this story:  
MaleShep (had considered FemShep, but I don't want to dabble in the footsteps of The Mission Stays The Same. That story did quite a bit of inspiration for me, but I don't want to infringe on its excellent writing and character-types).  
It's not a grand-fleet arrival story. Just a handful of people being introduced to the ME setting.  
I have a huge chunk of this story done so far, and will be slowly letting it out since I tend to rewrite and edit each chapter dozens of times. So a lot of it is already set in stone-ish, but things can definitely change depending on what people think.

Feel free to PM any questions, requests, etc... This story is purely a for-fun (as opposed to the TWiF series which is a bit more serious for me).

* * *

 **Cadia, Segmentum Obscurus**

 **340.40M**

Kane checked his hellgun battery one final time. It took an extreme force of will to not let his impatience show. The young men, boys really, surrounding him in the Chimera's troop compartment looked amongst each other with the distinct aura of men terrified. They murmured Litanies, whispered prayers, rocked back and forth as best they could given their restraining harnesses. Some checked their equipment, counted their magazines. One idiot was wiping his standard issue combat bayonet on his pants leg, attempting to clean away the imaginary grime. The Chimera rumbled to the right, skirting an unseen crater, and the motion made the Whiteshield slip. The knife cut, and he yelped in pain before sheepishly shoving the bloodied blade back into its scabbard.

Their fear was understandable. They were Whiteshields, and this was their first true battle. Yes they were Cadians. Yes they had grown up with war as a reality. Yes, they had trained for this since birth. But they were mortal men and they were now flying into the face of a terrible foe that wanted nothing more than to utterly devour them, both physically and spiritually. If they were not terrified than they were already dead. Fear would make them cautious, wary of their fragility. Kane did not need dead heroes. He needed soldiers.

The bass echoes of the raging battle seeped through the transport's thick walls, reminding them that the enemy was impatient to greet them. Kane felt the raucous vibrations of artillery shells bleed through the thrum of the Chimera engines and the grinding of the treads. He had but to close his eyes to picture the terrific scene outside. Mud and grit spewing into the air, superheated shards of metal spinning in all directions, fire burning so hot it melted the very earth. Bodies incinerated, lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye. Landscape remoulded in damnable craters.

A hare wouldn't have lasted thirty seconds in these killing grounds.

The Traitor's first shell had launched close to an hour ago. They had heard the sounds of war-thunder from their staging point behind Line Red. And in their Chimeras they had listened as it grew steadily louder. No one knew how long the barrage would last, perhaps a day or perhaps a few more minutes. One could never tell. There was no logic to the wars waged by the forces of the Ruinous Powers. Sometimes they threw ceaseless hordes of cultists to bury the enemy in death. Other times they launched lightning raids with elite forces. Still other times they summoned vile Warp energies that erased entire cities from physical existence.

What they did not do… was shoot an entire sector's worth of artillery into an isolated position on the Imperial line without a plan to crush right through it. Their desperation could be felt in the savageness of their bombardment. Mortars, siege guns, missiles. Every weapon of war that could be brought to bear, all directed at the thin stretch of trenches where noble Guardsmen held their ground against the tides of darkness.

Every hour the Guardsmen stood shorted the momentum of the Enemy and gave the loyalist armies time to recover. It was true, painfully true, that Imperial Command was reeling. The invasion had come so suddenly, without warning. Even the dozens of Astartes Chapters and Naval fleets that stood guard over the Eye of Terror had been caught wrong-footed. Days later, they still struggled to amass the force and strategy necessary to drive back the Enemy. The battles had been ruthless, breathless, following so quickly after each other that the strategists scrambled just to match the Enemy on the field. This bombardment was their first real break since the landings.

Personally, Kane hoped it would end soon even though a ground assault would follow right on its heels. The best weapons and training in the galaxy meant little if death could strike from above at any moment. All soldiers hated incoming artillery just as much as they loved outgoing. A rifleman couldn't compete with a screaming shell. The sooner the shelling ended, the more men they would have to repel the next assault.

Kane leaned back against the hull and closed his eyes. He thanked whoever had designed the Kasrkin armor for implementing a tinted face-shield. He got quiet with the prospect of battle. While some of his Kasrkin brothers made noise and bragged about their upcoming kills, he sat and thought. And his thoughtful face was a scary one to the uninitiated. It was cold, angry. If the Whiteshields saw that face their tenuous morale would snap.

He was not scared; Karskin never feared an enemy they could shoot at. But he was resigned. His lips moved soundlessly in one of the many prayers from _The Valorous Path_ , but his mind was elsewhere. He thought about the maps he had seen in the briefing room. He considered the various ways one of the Enemy shells could vaporize them in an instant. The average life expectancy on the Cadian frontlines so far was two hours.

The Cadian frontlines. The thought made bile choke his throat. It had been centuries since the Archenemy had landed a sizable enough force to establish a beachhead on their home world. It had been much longer since they had the forces to mount a full ground offensive. Less than a month ago a ragtag collection of eight cruiser-sized transport ships blasted through the naval blockade and crashed on the barren southern plains. The majority of their fleet had been destroyed or fled, but those eight transports and a Traitor Astartes strike cruiser landed an estimated four hundred thousand soldiers. Within two months they had overrun three Kasrs, with the help of monumental uprisings by Chaos cults, and annihilated a full Interior Guard army of two hundred thousand on the field of battle. If the Sector Command hadn't already been scrambling to organize a swift counter-offensive, the destruction of the Guard army would have caused quite a panic. Instead it merely hastened the assembly of two reprisal Armies and led to the premature graduation of one thousand Whiteshield companies from training. They were one of those thousand companies, and they were the first one to be sent into combat.

His particular training company had been in the early stages of its first battalion live-fire cycle when the mustering occurred, so their final combat tests never came through and the company shipped out without so much as a single round of final marksmanship testing. The heavy weapons were assigned at random to the trainees who were given an inadequate completion course in their systems while on the way to the staging fields. The bulk of their supplies had been left behind, and on arrival their officers had scrambled to find ammunition and equipment for the company. It was a mercy that, even without training completed, every single boy in the company could be called proficient with his weapon. It did not matter if they were ungraduated. They were Cadians. Every single one of them was an expert on the range, and all had a smattering of heavy and special weapons training.

Even with the rushed final training, they were better trained than ninety percent of post-graduation Guardsmen around the Imperium. Cadians were born and bred to be soldiers. What they had missed would come along soon enough once the lasers started flying. The men had proven adept and quick to learn in training. But Kane had his private doubts. He had seen veterans of a dozen campaigns break at their first encounter with the Ruinous Powers. The Archenemy stood in a league of its own, so indescribably powerful and vile that the Imperium's other enemies could not compare. These raw recruits were in for the shock of their lives. Probably the end of their lives, too.

Command had only reinforced his doubts when the officers came back with the bare necessities for their unit. Ten magazines and one fragmentation grenade per man, two thousand rounds per heavy bolter, twenty missiles for their two launchers, and only two ration packs each. The message had been clear enough to a veteran like himself.

They weren't expected to live past the day.

The revelation had not surprised him. Cadian battlefields had a well-earned reputation for being merciless meat grinders. Any Cadian would rather die than surrender a single meter of their homeground, and the Enemy was fearless and single-minded in its hatred of the servants of the Golden Throne. Cadia showcased warfare in its purist form: the worst of the Archenemy versus the finest of the Imperium. Here were the battles where men fought until their ammunition ran dry, their weapons had broken over an enemy's skull, their knives were stuck in someone's ribs, their shovel had snapped in half and their bodies were shattered in a hundred places. Units were not decimated on Cadian battlefields; they were wiped out.

The company commander had not been given an explanation for their unusual deployment. Had there been time the officer cadre would have met and grumbled about it, but there was no time. All that mattered was getting their men to the front lines in one piece. Still, Kane wondered. There were plenty of better trained and better supplied units that could have been ordered up and stood a real chance of surviving. Hell, there were more expendable units available too. He could not understand the strategic reason behind their specific orders. An ill-equipped Whiteshield unit could not be expected to hold out for long. Especially against the kind of forces they were fighting. The official military reports claimed that the Archenemy had lost over five hundred thousand men in the opening months of the ground campaign. Kane knew those numbers held little hope of accuracy. It was impossible to count the traitorous dead because there were always so many, and many were devoured in their own sorcerous machinations. That and he knew that Imperial strategists loved to pad the numbers for the sake of morale. There was also no way of counting how many their ranks had swelled by as every infernal cult in the region rushed to join them.

Accurate or not, it didn't do them a lick of good. All it would take was a few hundred to overwhelm their position. He reviewed the numbers in his head for lack of something better to do. One hundred ninety four Whiteshields. One company commander, three platoon officers, and Kane. Four heavy bolters and two missile launchers in the heavy weapons platoon. Their armor was generic Cadian flak, and they had only two support weapons per rifle platoon. They could hold against five hundred or more, but that would be pushing it. Kane had yet to see the Traitor Legions skimp on manpower.

As a lowly Whiteshield cadre sergeant he had no business understanding the Grand Plan of whatever pompous overlord was running this campaign. All he had to understand was the paper-sheaf with their orders that had been handed to him. Reinforce the salient. That was what the God-Emperor had decreed for them. That was their mission. And that would be their grave when it came to it.

Their destination was an entrenched position forward of Imperial Line Red. After the destruction of the Ninth Interior Guard Army, the initial Line Blue had been abandoned. While the Archenemy overwhelmed Kasrs Rento, Flar, and Yuuton, Imperial forces established a second defensive position codenamed Line Red to contain the threat. The survivors of Line Blue had retreated fifty kilometers to Line Red, hounded by traitorous warbands the entire way. By the time the Kasrs had been pacified, Line Red held over half a million Imperial soldiers.

The idea, Kane assumed, was to let the Archenemy break themselves on Line Red, then sweep them back into their landing zones where they could be boxed in and slaughtered by massed artillery. It was a somewhat risky venture, because the Imperial forces were spread across a lengthy distance and could only bring a portion of their might to bear at any given time. If the Traitor Legion concentrated its entire force on a few locations, it would crack Line Red in half and only serve to repeat the loss of the Ninth. Only, this time there would be no organized retreat to another defensive position. What little Kane had gleaned told him that everything was being placed on Line Red. There would be no reserves, no backup plan. It was an all-or-nothing gamble.

Even so, it was a good plan. The Imperial Guard's main advantage was sheer firepower, and no one held a defensive line like the Guard. And while the Archenemy could show masterwork brilliance in the field, restraining thousands of demented soldiers almost always proved beyond their capabilities in extended battles. Once the blood was let, control became nearly impossible. Competent Imperial tacticians could play that to their advantage.

If that was in fact what they were planning, of course. The only fly in the ointment was that not all of the Line Blue units had followed through on the order to retreat. The 94th Cadian Shock Troops and 248th Interior Guard Cadian Siege Company refused to give ground. Their trenches stood only five kilometers from Line Red, close enough to cause a significant disruption in battle plans. Unless the Lord General was willing to call in artillery on an Imperial position, the Traitor Legion could come within spitting distance of Line Red before the defenders could engage. Friendly fire was a fast way to break morale, and the Guard needed as much as it could get at the moment. The last thing they needed was panic and discontent spreading through the ranks. That was how the Ruinous Powers snuck in.

Their break from the order of battle had undoubtedly caused a stir in the command tents, but if the Lord General understood anything it was the passion with which Cadians held the line. Instead of abandoning them to the Traitor Legion, he ordered reinforcements sent out to aid them. Probably just to serve as another speed bump in the traitors' advance. Or maybe to give them a juicy target as bait. What Kane did know was that Command did not expect the defenders to last long, so the 675/w9 was about to see the beginning and subsequent end of its glorious incarnation. Two days might have been a bit optimistic. If the Archenemy hit them hard with even a thousand men, they wouldn't last beyond a few hours.

There was another reason he doubted how long they would last. Intelligence had done a good job keeping everyone in the dark, but before they boarded the Chimeras Kane stole a minute with a unit of Tallarn cavalry scouts and confirmed the rumors he had been hearing.

The Traitor Marines were original Legion. The World Eaters. The name sent a chill down his spine, but only for a moment. That was a name worth fearing. A single squad of those fiends would tear through the company without so much as pausing to piss on their corpses. The chance of encountering them was miniscule, but years of campaigning had taught Kane to expect the unexpected. And they had very little weaponry that could kill those ancient hellfiends. If they fought the Traitor Marines, they would certainly all die.

There were worse ways to die, he knew that. If his death came at the hands of the Archenemy's finest warriors, then so be it. Better them than a lowly cultist or a slobbering Ork. His men wouldn't see it the same way, but they had nothing to compare it to. All they would know would be death.

He knew very little about the details of the grand campaign and that was to be expected. What he did know was that the eventual Imperial counterattack would strike with the fury of a thousand Terran suns. There were companies from eight Loyalist Astartes chapters present in the staging grounds. Eight. The firepower held by even one of those companies left Kane impressed. Why hadn't they sent one of them out to hold the line? Space Marines could have done it much better than Whiteshields, and even stonewalled the Enemy's advance without trouble. Hell, all eight companies of Space Marines could probably charge straight from Line Red and keep going until they killed every single warp-twisted enemy on the planet.

In addition to the Loyalist Astartes, the ranks of the Imperial Guard contained the finest warriors from the every system. Mordian riflemen, Krieg combat engineers, Tallarn scouts, Elysian gravtroops, and more. Thirty loyalist worlds had supplied troops to the defense of Cadia, and that was before factoring in the numberless ranks of Cadian soldiers. And there were even more on the way. The nearest Kasrs to Line Red had devoted their entire industrial capabilities into the rapid manufacturing of war supplies. They could have conquered ten worlds with the amount of troops collected here.

Which was what made the Archenemy's threat so terrifyingly real. Assume half of the invasion force had died in entry or in the following battles. Hundreds of thousands had certainly died. But what of the Cadian population? How many thousand had joined the ranks of the Archenemy after the Ruinous Powers had infested their streets? And how many warp-spawned beasts prowled their ranks? Conservative estimate, the Enemy would have upwards of six hundred thousand bodies, human or otherwise. This battle would be spoken of for ages.

The scale of this war was so vast that Kane knew he could never understand the intricacies of the Lord General's plans, even if he lived through and then read the histories written of it afterwards. In the grand scheme of things, this unit's stand would never be remembered. It was a little thing, the life of a Whiteshield training company. They would be wiped out and replaced in the time it took the Lord General to shit on his ivory throne. But that was the reality of life in service to the Emperor. Lives only mattered in service rendered, and the Enemy was ever ravenous. If it took a thousand souls a day to keep the Emperor's Throne tended, then it took a trillion a day more to maintain Imperial territories. What was two hundred compared to that? It was a humbling thought, and one that he had more or less repeated to himself a thousand-thousand times since his first oath.

 _There is no greater homage a man can pay_ , Kane reminded himself, _than to die for the Emperor's Honor_.

He ran a hand along the length of his hellgun. The weapon was thoroughly blessed and prayed over. The fine-sheen of sacred cleaning oils still glimmered on the tip of the barrel. It was excess, and one that would have been looked on disapprovingly by the Engineseers, but every Guardsman had his quirk. Kane's was to especially bless the barrel. It was a tradition he had gleaned from Colonel Gainer, the man who had trained Kane's Schola class how to shoot the eye off a rat at two hundred meters. His thumb rubbed clockwise across the oil and spread the remainder over the now-dry vents. That little tingle of assurance ran through his arm and he broke the frown that marred his face. It would not fail him in the battle ahead. He might not understand the grand campaign, but as long as he had faith in his lasgun he was good to go. If anything would get him through this fool's run, it would be his wits, his gun, and the Emperor's blessing.

Emperor's blessing. Kane sincerely doubted he was important enough to earn that privilege. That kind of thing was reserved for Saints, Astartes, and Heroes. He wasn't any of those. Hell, he wasn't even a proper Kasrkin anymore. He was a damned cadre sergeant for a bunch of teenage soldiers. Soldiers like him weren't important to anyone but the men they stood beside.

"Battle lines are in sight" the driver announced over the internal vox. Everyone turned to look at the voxbox. One was so pale Kane thought the boy might pass out in his seat. "One minute to drop off. Emperor bless, grunts."

The Chimera lurched suddenly to one side. A muffled explosion rang outside the vehicle and the shockwave hurled the men against their restraints. Several broke. One Whiteshield was alert enough to grab a handrail, but the others tripped and fell face-first into their comrades on the opposite wall. Someone threw up. The sound of vomit splashing on the hard rubber floor cover set many of the others to retching. Kane held back from ordering them to suck it up. It would do no good. Instead he pounded the top of the compartment to gather their attention. They picked up their weapons and held them in white-knuckled grips.

"Remember what we taught you" He barked. Kane knew the other officers were giving this same speech in their own Chimeras. "Stick to your team, take careful shots, keep your head down! This is no worse than your training. The Enemy is expecting us to roll over and die for them. How about we punch them straight in the teeth instead?" He took a breath and studied their reactions. They could not see his eyes through the closed visor, but Kane turned his head so they would know he was watching. It brought them a small measure of courage. A couple flashed weak smiles and hooted with what little enthusiasm they could drum up. That was enough for him.

"When you get out of the Chimera, get into the trenches! Do not stop for anything. If the man beside you falls, keep running. If you get hit, crawl. If you drop your weapon, don't turn around to grab it. You will make it into that trench or so help me I will shoot you myself. Do you understand?"

A few nervous chuckles rippled through the squad. The Chimera bucked again, losing momentum so suddenly that the soldiers were thrown up against each other. This time Kane could smell the ozone come boiling into the compartment. Heat washed over them and buffeted the men nearest the driver's hatch. They skidded forward a few more meters before stuttering to a halt. He instinctively unbuckled as the Chimera jerked into a downward angle. Stumbling forward over the Whiteshields' feet to get to the hatch up front, Kane banged once on it and felt the handle. It was jammed and hot.

"Driver, get us moving!"

There was no response. A quick feel of the steaming hatch itself told him they no longer had a driver. Dwelling on the turn of events would have done no good. In a heartbeat Kane had adjusted and turned to face the Whiteshields. Pointing to the far door, he barked for them to move.

"Get those open. We've got to leg it. Move! Move! Move!"

The men leapt to the order, moving with the alacrity that only adrenaline could provide. One shoved the hatch down and the others ran out and scattered in textbook formation. Kane ran right behind them, shouting the order to continue on before he touched dirt. This was combat drill, not deployment drill. The kind of shells that were falling would wipe them all out if a single one hit in the center of the formation. Gesturing to each side, he ordered them to spread in a line and start hoofing it. The Whiteshields stood about for a second to catch their bearings. The more alert ones started off without so much as a "Yes Sarge!" Growling under his breath, he shouldered through the remainder and took in the situation in a glance.

The driver's compartment was crumpled in, shattered by an unexploded artillery round. They were still seventy meters from trenches. Two other Chimeras were down, one smoking and belching flame as the ammunition inside cooked off. He recognized the size of the explosions that tore the wreckage apart. The heavy weapons platoon was out. The other crawled forward on the last legs of its own momentum. The doors opened and a dozen men stumbled out. They were dazed and falling about like drunks on shore leave. A few had the wits to begin limping towards the trenches. Then a trio of explosions flashed in their midst and sent bloody chunks of meat flying through the air. Kane could smell the cooking flesh from a distance. Not a single man remained standing from the entire Chimera.

"To the lines" he shouted, pointing ahead.

The rest of the squad started moving. Some sprinted, others picked their way forward at a jog. There was no wrong answer except to stay put. Artillery rounds continued to fall. The other Chimeras were already reaching the lines where the defenders greeted them with cheers. The first two arrived and deposited their loads before turning around, but the third one to reach was thrown high in the air by a ground-shaking explosion, flipping end over end, and landed on the far side of trenches. Battered soldiers crawled out and were dragged into the trenches by the 94th Guardsmen. Another lost control and careened straight into the trench network, taking out a stubber emplacement and crushing the crew even as they scrambled to safety.

His whole body crackled with energy. The ground was rough and jagged from craters. Blood and water had turned the field into mud and guck that sucked at his boots and slowed us down with every step. Trooper Kirt had already lost a boot to the mud and staggered forward with one of his buddies slung over his back. The two men disappeared in a flash of fire and blood. Kane charged straight through the steaming red cloud left in their wake, trusting the ancient adage that artillery never strikes the same spot twice.

The company vox operator had been on Kane's Chimera and was one of the frontrunners despite his heavy gear. He was making good progress until a nearby mortar shell threw out a hail of shrapnel his way. Kane watched him spin a sudden jerky circle, arms twirling like a dancer in an opera. His throat, chest, and thighs were flayed to the bone. Blood sprayed across Kane's visor. The Whiteshield's eyes were wide and pleading as he tumbled onto his back. Kane dropped to a knee beside him. The others started to look back, but he motioned for them to go on.

The man moaned weakly, grasping at his arms. Kane shoved his hands away and sliced through the straps holding the vox to his back. It came off easily, already loosened by the explosion. The sound he made might have been one of horror and betrayal, but Kane did not stop to listen.

"Your soul to the Emperor's side" he muttered. The dying trooper reached after him as he hurried off after the others, dragging the vox along. If the trooper was lucky another explosion would kill him before he bled to death in the mud and mire of the field. Slow deaths were the worst kind.

The barrage was growing more intense. The heavy guns were lightening up; the lighter guns were growing heavier. Kane could pick out the ordinary mortar rounds landing in little spurts amidst the volcanic siege shells. Three more from his Chimera died before reaching the lines. The Whiteshields slid into the trench with care, somehow finding the sense of mind to watch their step. Kane did no such thing. A cluster of men stood by watching him come in. He hurled the vox to them and dove in feet first. Someone caught him midair, hurling him around in an arc and using his momentum to toss him against the edge of the trench. The result was he slammed hard into the dirt, but Kane was still on his feet and scanning the trench even as he regained his balance.

"You're the fracking reinforcements?"

The gruff voice came from Kane's right. Moments later the source of the noise made itself apparent. It was an infantry officer with scuffed armor and a hasty bandage wrapped around his left calf. The bandages were stained deeply with blood. A lieutenant insignia showed on his chest pips. Kane tossed a crisp salute, drinking in the state of the men around him as he did. Their faces were grim but determined. The officer's helmet was cocked slightly off-center, matching his give-them-hell appearance.

"What made it across, lieutenant." He dropped the salute and looked around, canvassing the area for his charges. It was hard to count all of the Whiteshields; they were already being shoved into firing positions by the seasoned riflemen of the 94th. Kane did not see his own officers anywhere. Now did he see any of their precious heavy weapons, either. "We took casualties on the crossing. I believe we lost our heavy weapons section. Have you seen any officers about?"

"Haven't seen another officer yet" the man growled. He pointed without further preamble. "You're a Kasrkin, aren't you? So you know the drill without needing to be told. How good are these Whiteshields?"

"Good enough" Kane answered. "They'll hold. Are you the officer in charge?"

"Highest ranking survivor. Arnalt" the man replied. They all glanced over in the direction of an explosion. It had landed very close, erupting just over the lip of the trench to shower them with mud. Now that there were no more Chimeras to take shots at, the majority of the shelling resumed landing in and around the trenches. Mostly mortars now. The big guns had fallen silent. Even the Whiteshields knew what was coming next. The lieutenant glanced up and down the trench line as if seeking inspiration.

"Frack it, I'm assigning you to my staff." He chuckled dryly. "Follow me. We need to go coordinate with the Jay-Cee. Oh, and thanks for salvaging the vox. Ours is scattered in about a hundred pieces somewhere over there, along with the operator."

Their heads remained low as they sprinted along the trench network. There were two kilometers of line to hold. It was a small amount on an ordinary battlefield, but here it might as well have been half the world. Kane got a good look at how few men were left as they crossed the lines. Men were grouped in twos and threes at regular intervals, but the space between each group was alarming. There couldn't have been more than a few hundred left. Perhaps half of the Whiteshield company hadn't survived the crossing. Without heavy weapons, this position struck him as solidly indefensible.

It was painfully clear that the 94th was nowhere close to combat strength. Flak-armored ordnance staff armed with battered lasguns made up a good portion of the defensive line. Many of the defenders were walking wounded, and a few of the more critically injured ones had been laid in positions where they could still shoot even if they were immobilized. There was no triage center, no reserve team. Every man was on the line. Kane looked around for heavy weapons buried into hardpoints. None. The question was, were they destroyed or out of ammunition? Considering the fighting these men had been through, either option seemed plausible.

"Are those the 248th?" He gestured towards a pair of men jostling an empty promethium drum into their cover. Freshly packed earth leaked out of a hole shot through the container. They were reinforcing their position with anything they could find.

"The 248th was stationed on Line Blue" Lieutenant Arnold said. "Most of their vehicles were destroyed in the initial assaults. One Griffon made it to this point, but it was rendered inoperable yesterday. They've held the line with the rest of us since."

"And they volunteered to stay?"

"We volunteered them" the man said, his voice full of steel. "Though they didn't need much convincing. They left a lot of comrades behind. They've more than proven themselves as frontline soldiers."

"Honorable" Kane muttered. It struck him as bitterly ironic that these artillery crewmen had more combat experience than the infantry company he had brought in to reinforce them. The state of their line left him unimpressed and morbidly certain of the outcome of this next assault. His old company of Kasrkin could have held the line. A full-strength Cadian battalion could hold it indefinitely. But not these men. Not this pitiful collection of soldiers.

Another explosion sent smoke billowing into the trench. He saw one of the Whiteshields emerge out of the dust, flamer tank jiggling loosely on his back. The man staggered to the side as they approached, a terrified but excited grin on his face. A second Whiteshield hurried up and set about strapping the flamer down tighter. If took some fumbling, but they managed to secure it before he reached them. Flashing nervous grins, they huddled against the lip of the trench and waited for the bombardment to cease. Somewhere further down the line he heard a man screaming, whether in pain or fear he could not tell.

"What are we expecting?"

"So far, we've seen mobs of infantry. They're the usual fodder: ragged cultists and traitorous Guardsmen that sold their souls to Chaos. For the most part they're mindless rabble, few weapons. We've been mowing them down in droves, but there's always more. With luck, that's all we'll see. What are the reports from Command?"

"Not my business." Kane shook his head. "Suffice to say that when the Lord General unleashes the armies behind us, these louts will be swept back to the misery they came from."

"When will that be?"

Kane didn't answer. The lieutenant had the wisdom to not repeat the question. There were rank-and-file soldiers around and the news wouldn't do them any good. Sometimes it was best to let them hold to whatever foolish hopes that remained. Throne knew that if he had told the Whiteshields, some might have broken where they stood. There were limits to discipline, even among Cadians.

Understanding the severity of Kane's silence, the lieutenant nodded determinedly. "Then we will hold the line to give them as much time as we can."

Agreeing quietly, Kane surveyed the soldiers. They were all exhausted, walking on pure adrenaline. "And you know they will hold to the last?"

"They will" the lieutenant assured me. "Even if they lacked the will, _she_ doesn't."

Kane turned to watch a black-clad figure striding down the trench line towards them. Men darted to the sides, nodding and saluting as their tasks allowed, all showing proper reverence to the menacing figure clad in a stifling black coat and crimson-banded cap. In a sea of dark green armor, the iconic uniform stood out like an Ork among Eldar.

The title _Commissar_ conjured the image of a noble and cold-hearted defender of the Imperium, armed with chainsword and bolt pistol, standing vigilant over the ranks of the Guard forces that held the line against mankind's enemies. A commissar was pristine, unflappable, a pillar against the foe that showed no sign of weathering. They were incorruptible and untouchable.

The commissar before him had none of those qualities. Not at first sight. She was a small thing, standing just shorter than his shoulder, with a battered and mud-stained coat that had clearly seen much combat. An elegant sword hung at her hip, bolt pistol holstered on the opposite side, with a bandolier of grenades slung over one shoulder and a well-used lascarbine clutched to her chest. Her left hand was bandaged, her face darkened by soot and grime. Exhaustion read on her face and in her posture, the overly rigid set of her spine telling him that sheer willpower kept her composed. The startling aspect of youth peeked out underneath the signs of battle though, revealed in a brightness that could not be diminished by her fatigue.

As she approached she lifted a hand to remove her wheel cover. Kane watched in silence, uncertain of her intent, but she merely wiped her brow with the back of her dirtied sleeve before replacing it on her head. Loose strands of oily black hair fell across her face, highlighting the paleness of her skin underneath the dirt. Her hands trembled just slightly. Examining her more closely, Kane noted that her pupils were dilated too. Some sort of drug, quite possibly morphia or stimms. Her hand did not look too bad. Stimms, then.

"This is Junior Commissar Arietta Blake" Lieutenant Arnold said by way of introduction. "She was attached to the 94th a few months ago under Commissar Oden. I regret to say that Oden has gone to join the sainted martyrs, but Madam Blake's presence has been most welcome."

Kane saluted respectfully. The Junior Commissar, as her rank denoted, was young. She must have been in training under the deceased Commissar Oden, preparing to be promoted to her own unit when her mentor approved. He guessed her age somewhere around nineteen, possibly even younger. Under the grime and weariness she still bore signs of the last remnants of baby fat on her face and shine in her eyes. She had a femininely strong face with violet eyes, coal-black hair, and skin so pale she looked ghostly. For a short moment he allowed himself to try and remember where he had seen that before. Northern stock. Hardy folk, the northerners. A bit fatalistic, but stubborn when it counted.

"Madam Commissar" he said in greeting. She returned the salute crisply, tired muscles performing the motion with lifeless mechanical precision. Her eyes raked over his armor for a unit marking before turning to Lieutenant Arnold. The brief movement pulled back her cape, revealing a dented breastplate bearing what appeared to be a family coat of arms. Ostentatious, but effective judging by the scratches that marked where it had saved her life.

She did not waste time on introductions nor pleasantries. "The right flank is dangerously low on bodies and ammunition, lieutenant. They will not hold against another assault as they are. I see reinforcements have arrived?"

"Pitifully few" the lieutenant answered. "A single company, lost their heavy weapons and officers on the ride across. This is…"

"Troop Sergeant Kane, Madam Commissar." Some of the weariness drained from her face, replaced by the glimmer of hope that Kane knew was about to be dashed.

"When we requested reinforcements I did not realize they were sending us Kasrkin. Finally some good news."

"Sorry to disappoint, Madam Commissar." Kane gestured down the lines. "I'm only cadre. Your reinforcements are Whiteshields fresh out of training. They're set up along the line that way. Took significant casualties getting to you and we're minimally equipped. As the lieutenant said, our heavy weapons section never made it across. Managed to bring a few flamers and grenade launchers, but that's it for firepower. These men will stand their ground and they're ready to die for the Throne though. You can be sure of that."

A disappointed grimace slugged its way across her lips, but she nodded and looked back to the lieutenant. The artillery had begun to slacken. The enemy would be coming soon. Kane shifted to recover his balance when he tripped on a jutting bit of dir- that was a leg. Blinking in surprise, Kane surveyed the trench again and realized that the ground was lined with the dead. Scores of slain soldiers, stripped of armor, weapons, ammunition, and anything useful, lay shoulder to shoulder along the rear wall of the trench. Most were recognizable, but some were so badly burnt or hacked or blown apart that he could hardly tell they were human. The line continued unbroken in both directions. These were the men that had already fallen. The dead far outnumbered the living.

"Then _we_ shall hold the right flank, for there the fighting will be the fiercest. The sergeants of the 94th will commandeer your soldiers and put them to use. I hope your assignment to training cadre has not dulled your prowess, Sergeant Kane."

"Just made me eager to put the fear of the God-Emperor into some heretics" He promised. The answer satisfied her.

"To the lines then, gentlemen. Voice your prayers if you desire, and prepare for a battle that will glorify He-On-The-Throne."

She swept down the trench with fire in her step. Every man she passed turned to salute her, and Kane noticed something that made him give the young Commissar another look. They were not saluting out of fear, like the soldiers of so many units that he had fought alongside. These men respected her, were encouraged to see her walk past. A few exchanged words with her, and she appeared to know most of them by name. One tossed her a lasgun battery fresh off the little fire they had created in a hollow. She caught it and shoved it into a pocket with a nod and a blessing that left the man grinning from ear to ear.

The 94th was chock full of grizzled veterans but they were looking up to a kid-Commissar, and a woman for that matter. She must have proven her worth many times over on the battlefield to earn that kind of respect. Cadians accepted commissars more readily than other worlds' units, but that did not mean they were greeted with open arms. The quality of Cadian blood demanded the best. An inferior commissar did not last long. This Madam Blake seemed a cut above to have garnered such goodwill so quickly.

"Madam Blake appears to have a reputation with the men" he muttered to Lieutenant Arnold. The officer grinned, nearly bursting with pride.

"She was a bit of a rough fit at the start, but since this damned invasion she's earned her place. Commissar Oden bit it at Line Blue and she's stepped in admirably. Yesterday she threw herself into a crowd of cultists that were mobbing the last heavy bolter emplacement. Killed six of them with her power sword before we could get a team over to reinforce the position. She's not afraid to dirty her hands, and she's got a good head on her shoulders. Understands when to prod the men and when to let them have their way. Hell, I'd take her over a squad of Kasrkin. No offense intended" he added hastily.

Kane took none. Years on the frontline of so many warzones had taught him that the right person in the right place could have extreme effect. Sometimes only one was needed to turn the tide. "Sounds like you struck Ad."

"More or less." The lieutenant pushed to the wall as a shell screamed close by. It exploded just a few feet away from the trench. Shrapnel rained down around them, spattering into the mud in a hellish rain. Kane slapped the lieutenant's shoulder and they hurried off after the Commissar, who had walked through the rain without flinching. She huffed impatiently at the delay before continuing on.

The final barrage shell exploded somewhere behind them. In the wake of the shelling descended an oppressive, choking silence. Blanketed by smoke that rolled in like a fog, the Cadians found themselves surrounded by an unnatural quiet. Kane turned and looked back on the 94th. There were no cries of reassurance from the Cadian lines, just the barking of sergeants and corporals as they checked on their men. Even the Whiteshields knew what was coming next. Weapons were primed and men threw themselves into their firing positions with frantic prayers crossing their lips. The silence would only last a few minutes, and when it was over there was a butcher's bill that needed filling. And they were the pen that would fill it out.

"Prepare yourselves" Commissar Blake cried. Her voice boomed down the trench, augmented by a hand-speaker she had produced from her belt. "The Archenemy is coming, brave soldiers. He thinks we are weak and beaten and ready to surrender. He thinks our faith is shaken by a paltry barrage of guns. Let us prove him wrong today! When the Enemy comes he will find our guns hot to greet him! He will find our hearts filled with the steel of the God-Emperor's fury! Let every man here take account today, and find himself not wanting. The Golden Throne is watching, men of Cadia! The Imperium of Man is watching! The Angels of Death themselves stand by in the heavens, ready to bring the fallen to eternal glory!

"Guardians of the Eye of Terror! The Emperor will lead us to glorious victory today, of that I have little doubt. We will reap the Foe as they come and create such ruin that even the vilest offenders will weep for fear of our wrath! And when the last body falls, the Enemy will know who we are! Who are we?"

" _THE EMPEROR'S FURY! AVE IMPERATOR!_ "

The cry rose from every throat along the lines. Cheers rang out in its wake, and men whooped and hollered as they made their final adjustments. Kane felt a little touch of thrill himself. Her command voice was a very stirring one and she knew the right words for the situation. She could have had a grand career in the Guard, if circumstances had been different. Her death here would be a tragedy for Cadia. So much potential lost.

Finding a firing step on the line, Kane stood to and peered out at the carrion-ridden battlefield. Corpses littered the ground as far as the eye could see. He saw many clad in Guard armor, those that had been slain as they retreated, but by far the majority wore little more than rags or makeshift armor. Those were the Archenemy's men, and their numbers were uncountable. It was as if a godly hand had scooped up an entire Kasr's graveyard and scattered ten generations of corpses across the shattered land. There had to be well over thousands slain. Several wrecked vehicles were scattered through the carnage as well. Some Chimeras here and there, a few Griffon siege vehicles, and lots of trucks. Several ugly armored vehicles lay about in various states of destruction. The numbers bore testament to the resolve of the 94th and those that stood beside them.

"That gun" Lieutenant Arnold said, coming up beside Kane. He tipped his head towards the hellgun in Kane's hands. "Can be a game changer here. Save your ammunition, Sergeant. Prioritize your targets and leave the regular scum to us."

"Define priority targets." Kane saw the first hints of a dust cloud in the distance. Setting his eye to the scope, he began to check distances and landmarks. There were a lot to choose, so he settled with those things most directly in front of them. "I thought you said these were mostly mobs."

"They are" the lieutenant agreed. "But they are not completely without leadership. Be on the lookout for large mutants and any who look like leaders. That's how we've gotten them to retreat in the past. Once their leaders go down the rest panic and retreat."

"Retreat?" Kane looked away from his lasgun and tossed the officer a questioning look. Not that the lieutenant would be able to see it through the tinted visor.

"I know, it's strange." Lieutenant Arnold shook his head. "Nothing they do makes sense. My guess would be that the ones we are facing aren't wholly bought into the taint yet."

"Native Cadians, perhaps?" The thought rankled Kane's gut, but he held no delusions. Every Cadian had experienced the taint of Chaos in one form or another, whether in the fight against the darkness or in the perversion of those around them. Cultist uprisings were a fact of life. Once the Archenemy had arrived, countless traitorous Cadians must have swarmed to their banners.

The Commissar cut in suddenly, voice dripping with acid. "It is not our place to presume at the origin of our foes. Push everything from your mind but the fight ahead. Heresy lies in idle thoughts."

Kane looked back down his sights. not wasting the energy to reply to her admonition. It pleased him to be around professionals again. Cadre to the Whiteshields had reminded him of his earliest Schola days. Filled with helpless fumbling and incompetence tempered by passionate faith. The familiar ring of steel in the Commissar's voice reassured him that he was not the only warrior on the line. Even if she was relatively new to actual war, every Schola graduate could be considered equal to a hardened veteran.

Dialing his hellgun lasgun to low power, he would be shooting at soft targets after all, Kane focused his attention on memorizing the layout of the ground ahead. Knowing the terrain was half the battle, especially on the defense. Drive the attackers into lanes of fire, chase them away from sheltering cover, pin them in the open and they were dead before they could reach the lines.

The terrain around the trenches had been transformed by the heavy shelling. It was an attacker's heaven, with plenty of churned up craters to provide cover to a smart enemy. Thank the Throne that the forces of Chaos derided such things as weakness. Best sort of enemy was the one that charged head on. Beneath the craters and wreckage of war, he noted a regular pattern in the destroyed vehicles. There was a discernable line aimed in their direction.

"Lieutenant," Kane glanced over his shoulder, "This position is on a road."

"It is." The lieutenant set his chainsword on the lip of the trench so he could check his sidearm. Inspecting his magazine critically, he grimaced and slotted it into the laspistol. "Damned inconvenient, isn't it?"

"We should have more men at this position."

"We used to." Giving his chainsword a test rev, he shrugged and indicated the pile of corpses lined against the back wall. They were more tightly concentrated here than in the other sections of the trenches. "Lost a good deal of men here."

"Reinforcements would be appropriate."

"Can't afford to take anyone else off the line. Before your Whiteshields got here, we were spread too thin to hold back a gaggle of schoolchildren. Appreciate your help, of course, but all your men are just plugging holes."

"No reserve force, then?"

"No." The lieutenant grimaced. "We don't have even a man to hold back. It's just us anchoring this position."

"Then we will hold it as we are" Kane agreed.

"That we will" Junior Commissar Blake said, taking a place at Kane's side. She settled her lascarbine into a niche that served as a firing point, tipping the weapon back and forth to inspect it for damage. A long hastily wrapped strip of plastape connected a second power pack to the first, flipped upside down for a swift reload. Kane had seen veteran infantry use that trick before. It was effective, providing the heat of the pack did not melt the plastape off.

The lascarbine could not have been part of her initial kit. Perhaps as a Commissar Cadet she had carried one, but any self-respecting Commissar swore by their sidearm. A lascarbine lacked the finesse their position required. It was not her original weapon; that much he knew. The infantry all carried the Kantrael MG or the M36. Ordinance crews used the lascarbine because it was easier to carry and less cumbersome. A better personal defense weapon.

A barely noticeable flicker of eye movement was the only indication that the Commissar had observed his attention. Easing the lascarbine on its side, she turned and regarded him openly, stern appraisal etched securely on her face. Set against her sweat-slicked midnight hair, her face radiated a corpse-pale glow. Dark streaks under her eyes stretched like battle wounds across her skin.

"Something on your mind, Kasrkin?"

"Just studying your piece, Commissar. Haven't seen many of your type to carry a longarm."

"Sword and bolter are my preferred choice" she conceded. "But the numbers we are facing require something more." She ran a hand solemnly over the stock of the lascarbine. "This soldier gave his life for the Emperor, and his weapon remains. It is fitting to honor his sacrifice by continuing to slay the Enemy in their name."

 _Grandiose, but appropriate_ , Kane thought. She could do without the formality and just say that the lascarbine had more ammunition and better range.

"What was his name?"

"Trooper Reinhart." Her eyes flashed in challenge. She lifted the weapon and showed a dog tag wrapped around the trigger guard. "Gryphon mortar operator. He operated the mortar until they were overrun. Shot over a dozen times before he finally went down, and hurled himself at the Enemy with their last mortar. In death he took many with him."

Kane nodded in respect. "He would be honored to know that his weapon is still finding use."

A sharp exhale shook her narrow frame. Shifting slightly, she adjusted her posture for a better fit against her firing step. "I'd suggest you return your focus on the enemy, Sergeant."

Choosing to not reply, Kane went back to watching the incoming cloud. The Enemy was advancing now, using the smoke raised by the bombardment to mask their movement. He could see shapes in the smoke, lots of shapes. There were no vehicles at far as he could tell. This would be a pure infantry battle. That gave them slightly better odds of survival. Infantry were much easier to kill.

"Hold your fire" the lieutenant ordered. Someone behind relayed the command over a crackling vox. Kane his head and noted that another Guardsman had come up carrying the vox they had brought in. "Wait until I give the order."

Kane continued searching the cloud through his scope. The Guardsmen had themselves in good hands.

"Is that what I think it is?"

A handful of larger shapes were beginning to make themselves known among the horde. He focused on those, knowing with certainty what would require his attention. His scope did not have much magnification, but it was enough to make the targets visible in the mad throng. Powerful, lumbering, superhuman forms. Dwarfing the raging cultists around them, they wore plate armor covered in spikes, trophies, and vicious runes that sent jolts of pressure through his skull. He averted his gaze, sending his eyes drifting across their weapons and snarling faces. Inhuman sneers bared frightful teeth. Blood sprayed from their whirring chainblades.

" _Emperor's mercy flow from the heavens_ " Kane murmured. The lieutenant shot him a sidelong look, startled by the sudden invocation. " _The Emperor preserves his children with the fires of His holy wrath. Many are the heretic that seek to torture our souls. The Emperor is a bulwark that brings salvation…_ "

He ran through the litany as he changed the hellgun back to full power. The lieutenant saw the subtle motion and recognition dawned in his eyes. He swallowed hard and leaned back into his weapon. Though he could barely hear Kane's words, he knew the hymn and he joined in. Kane heard the Commissar doing the same. Their three voices cut an eerie choir in their small portion of the battlefield. The Commissar's rich alto, the lieutenant's tenor, and Kane's vox-adjusted bass gave the litany a dirge-like quality. It was supposed to be a petition for safekeeping. None of them expected an answer.

The Enemy infantry rushed ever closer. Random shots began to punch into the trenches, kicking up little puffs of dirt in pale mockery of the earlier barrage. They were poorly aimed, low-caliber rounds. Dangerous to exposed flesh, but against their hardened armor the Cadians had little to fear.

Kane concentrated on the towering Chaos elite tearing forward in great strides. They overtook their slower companions with ease, racing to the battle on wings as swift as horses. Each carried an arsenal in bolters, chainblades, grenades, and other explosives. He could see three. Three of the Traitor Marines amidst a horde a thousand times their number.

Those three were more dangerous than the entire horde.

"On your shot" the lieutenant said. Kane nodded, already having marked his target. He had picked the nearest, a creature of such stature even among his comrades that the Kasrkin knew he had command. The ceramite-clad giant ran unhelmeted, his face a battlefield of scars and weeping sores. Something glowed in one hand, perhaps a plasma weapon. Interesting. Kane shifted his aim between the Marine's head and the weapon. Either one could have spectacular results. Both were nearly impossible shots.

 **Over Alchera, Amada System**

 **SR-2 Normandy**

 **2185**

Shepard stood by the galactic map and looked down at his bridge crew. The officers went about their business with hidden urgency, tackling the mundane running of one of the galaxy's most advanced stealth ships as if they were operating basic 20th Century computers. Hushed small talk bounced about the CIC, their only open acknowledgment of the pervading sense of security that graced this mission. Mission wasn't even a good word for it. This was a tribute, a final goodbye. This was a solemn job, and one that had been put off for far too long.

It did not matter that the _Normandy SR-2's_ crew was Cerberus and those they honored were Alliance. What mattered was that they were fellow humans, soldiers and sailors lost in a battle against a terrifying foe. The dead were to be revered for their service no matter which uniform they wore. This crew, this Cerberus crew, understood all too well the implication of this visit. It was more than a salute to those that had passed on. It was more than a pilgrimage to the resting place of their predecessor ship. It was more than a sober warning of the severity of their larger mission.

This was the place where their commanding officer, the one who now stood at the commander's helm with hands grasped firmly on the railing, had died. Not a man or woman aboard held any illusions about the sanctity of their task here. This was the place where humanity's greatest hope had been snuffed out, and where that same great hope had been snatched from Death's grasp and brought back in what could only be described as a miracle of modern technology.

Despite their carefully maintained composure, Shepard knew the whispers that circulated amongst the crew. Some refused to believe that he had died, instead holding to the theory that Cerberus had recovered his dying body and nursed him to health over time. Cynical, but understandable. As a one-of-a-kind success, Shepard acknowledged their skepticism with grace. He doubted he would have believed it himself if he had not been personally involved in the affair.

Others claimed that Shepard's return went beyond scientific explanation, that his life was the result of divine intervention. Those ones fairly worshipped the ground he walked on, speaking his name with reverence and awe. God forbid someone would go and start a cult in his name. Shepard was well-versed in humanity's history. A Cult of Shepard could lead to more hell than half of Earth's wars put together.

The remaining crew did not know what to make of him. Some feared him, others feared whether or not he was up to task. Certainly there were a few crewmen who had come to Cerberus from less-than-stellar backgrounds. Shepard's reputation would have the former criminals quaking in their boots.

Whatever their origins, whatever their beliefs regarding Shepard, he had no doubt that this crew was capable. The Illusive Man had made good on his word: the best ship, the best technology, the best agents. He would not skimp on the personnel. Not with this much on the line. They were professionals first, personal lives second. That did not mean they were automatons, but that was for the better. Shepard could trust in their humanity. He couldn't have done that with the faceless fanatics his team had battled during Saren's campaign.

As his gaze drifted across the new faces, taking pains to place names with faces that he had yet to memorize, he asked himself for the hundredth time, _had this been a good idea_? To go to such a place, with a crew he barely knew. The full weight of what they were doing had not sunk in yet. He wondered how badly it would shake him when it finally did. He knew the stories of hardened veterans breaking down when they returned to visit their fallen comrades. He knew the pain of seeing the dead. How much more so would this strike him?

Two years… he still could not imagine it. Lost in space, burned to cinders in atmospheric reentry. As dead as a biological being could be. He knew the stories in the ancient religions about resurrection and the return of the dead. To have it actually occur, much less on himself... it was not something easily comprehended. The memories were not there. It was not as if he could remember being dead. He had seen some of the records; those they allowed him to see. The science was beyond him. But the facts were there. Somehow, they had discovered how to bring him back.

The unending questions had eaten away at him, gnawing constantly at his confidence. The Illusive Man had known it would, any sane person would, and had seen fit to send him a way of alleviating his stress and fears. Yeoman Kelly Chambers, his assistant, psychologist, therapist; always in easy reach if he needed her. From her console beside the helm she plodded away at a neverending stream of tasks that ranged from crew health reports to administrative mumbojumbo. She worked tirelessly, always eager to answer a question, remind him of a name, to talk through his worries. And she did it all with an irresistible smile.

That smile. Shepard tried to think if he had ever seen her not smiling. In the few days since he had met her, the answer had been a resounding no. Her spirit was powerful and filled with cheer. It was rare to meet an optimist in this day and age, but Kelly Chambers defied all expectations. If her spirit was as durable as it appeared, she would be a great asset if only for her ability to not be dismayed.

Ordinarily he would have welcomed her cheerful grin. Today was different. Shepard's nerves were on edge. His jaw was starting to hurt from how long it had been clenched. His stomach fluttered with each passing hour that drew them nearer to the planet. A pervading sense of wrongness scratched at his spine. It was as if some greater power did not want him returning here. His resurrection had been unnatural, a direct act of defiance against Death itself. That made him an anomaly in the universe, a creature of unnatural origin. And the universe did not want him to forget that.

He had not slept well. Fragments of nightmares screeched through his mind at night. There were no clear images, but he woke several times with the horrible sense of loss and pain coursing through his body. His exhaustion left him irritable. The waiting left him anxious. He needed something to do. He needed action. He needed to get into a fight and put someone's head through a wall. In the short time he had been alive, again, he had visited one planet and three space stations, not to mention having spent a good portion of his first day fighting for his life.

The Illusive Man had thrown him straight into the fray, not giving him time to rest and recover. It was probably for the better. The shootout at the space station had left him wired. The subsequent investigation of the colony Freedom's Progress, and his encounter with Tali, had nearly stopped him cold. The confusion in her voice, the betrayed anguish when she saw him with Cerberus agents, that had hurt. It had been the knife in his gut that had driven home his new role in the galaxy. Even if he was not working for Cerberus, he was working _with_ Cerberus.

The stigma rankled at his sense of honor. It gave him that nagging question in the back of his mind: how far would the ramifications of his actions stretch? Whether or not he approved, Cerberus would have claim to "the Great Commander Shepard" under their banner. Would his name be used to lure good people into an organization that had less than noble intentions. Was his name going to be used in terrorist actions?

The Collectors were the only reason he was not hunting down the Illusive Man. Once this was all over, he was going to have a very interesting chat with him.

It would take a long time before he grew comfortable on this ship, if that was even possible. The eyes on his back would always bother him. Miranda Lawson, Jacob Taylor, Kelly Chambers, and God only knew how many more of them. He held no delusions about that. The Illusive Man had all but told him he had spies onboard. He just hadn't said what kind.

With all the questions and mystery, hindsight continued to remind him that the Council's reaction to his audience had been more or less justified. Their actions, or lack thereof, in his absence had left him stunned. Two years of potential lost because the bureaucrats of the Council had not wanted to deal with the harsh reality. How many millions would die in the future because of those two years lost? Their hesitation infuriated him. His gut reaction had been to call them cowards and fools, to wish them a speedy journey to whichever hell they claimed faith in. But he had held his composure. He knew it would get him nowhere. Politicians were politicians were politicians.

It was astounding enough that they had not tried to have him arrested. Someone had pre-briefed them on his alleged ties to Cerberus. The resulting meeting had been chilly to say the least, so cold and distant that Shepard had felt the unease from across the communications channel. They had questioned his return with such petulant disbelief that Shepard had almost hung up on them. Short memories were the bane of his career. Just over two years ago he had saved their lives, at the cost of too many human ones. And this was the respect it had earned him? Criticism, disbelief, disloyalty. It sometimes pained him to remember that the aliens were no better than humans. Down at their core, every race was selfish and rotten.

Needless to say, it had not been a very pleasant conversation for either side. There had been accusations. There had been insults. Shepard had eaten a whole slice of humble pie to endure the Council members. God-damned Udina had sat through it all with that false smile and smoke-camaraderie. Played it safe to both sides, as the snake would.

All that work, all the lives sacrificed. And this is what it got him. They trusted him just fine when the truth was shoved in their faces, but the instant they couldn't physically see the problem he _must_ have been crazy. One would think that the stakes he had gotten them through would have cemented their belief in his judgment.

But the Council continued to choose the overly cautious route over the efficient one. It was so much easier to believe that the Collectors were not behind the problem. Just like it had been easier to believe that Sovereign had been an advanced geth dreadnought. Their lack of spines disgusted him. Even Anderson had been cautious about his story. Anderson! The man who had mentored him, stood by his side when the Council wanted to ground him. He was on his own again, Shepard realized. The reinstatement he had received was a token gesture that the Council hoped would get him off their backs. They didn't care about the Collectors, or the lost human colonies. They cared about their positions. Well, that wasn't fair. Anderson cared, but there was only so much he could do.

His talk with Joker afterwards hadn't helped his mood. The good-hearted but crass pilot had told Shepard bluntly where the Council could stick it. They had enjoyed a laugh, shared some memories, and walked away with a nagging sense of having been wronged. It was not a feeling that Shepard could afford to keep, and he spent a long night trying to force it away. The anger did not want to leave; he knew he had every reason to feel justified. He had done so much, and now the Council wasn't repaying him.

But it wasn't the Council's job to repay him. He was a Spectre, he served them. It flowed both ways, but there was a clear chain of command. They had done more than enough in their own minds: humanity now owned a Council seat, human-alien relations had improved dramatically, and dreadnought restrictions on the Systems Alliance had been lifted. Shepard hadn't done any of it for himself, he had done it for the galaxy. He didn't need, or even want, to be singled out for repayment. What he wanted was for the galaxy to be ready. And it wasn't.

" _Shepard_." Joker's voice cracked on the overhead speaker. Shepard shook himself from his reverie and checked the system map. The _Normandy_ was approaching the atmospheric insertion point, gliding through low space. It was a quiet run so far. Far quieter than his last first-run on the _Normandy_. Eden Prime seemed like a lifetime ago. It literally was; a smile teased at the corner of his mouth at the thought. Lifetime. The only man in existence who could use that phrase and actually mean it.

"Go for Shepard, Joker."

" _Approaching the drop off now. The away team is geared up and ready for you in the hangar._ "

"Understood. Inform them I am on my way."

He double-checked the groundside map against the one on his omnitool to ensure it had updated before turning away and heading for the elevator. Kelly wished him a goodbye and he spent a moment returning it. Her smile remained, but he could read the guarded expression in her eyes. She was worried for him. The entire crew was worried for him. This might have been a simple memorial trip for most of them, but it had the potential to go badly.

Shepard knew the unspoken fears. This would be an emotional strain that many wondered if he was ready for. He had only been "alive" for a few days, and he was about to visit the scene of his death. He wondered himself if he was ready. It would be surreal, he was sure of that. The whole thing would be like an emotional ten-rounder with Leonard "Lefty" Lyons. The old Shepard would have been able to handle it just fine, all things considered. The man who had read the Eden Prime Relay, stopped Matriarch Benezia, repelled the Geth on Feros, and defeated Saren and _Sovereign_ could take on anything.

Now everyone wanted to know if the new Shepard was as tough as the old one.

"The ship is yours, Joker. I'll see you when I get back."

" _See you on the flip side… Shepard_."

Joker's momentary hesitation made him wince. Joker was one of the only familiar faces on the ship. The pilot's slip only drove home how uncomfortable he felt. Eventually things would normalize. Eventually he would find closure. But not today. Dear God, not today.

Shepard took the elevator straight down. The slight tug of instinct slid his hand to press the main deck, where Doctor Chakwas was. Her presence had helped soothe some of his fears about Cerberus. Her wisdom and kindly manner could help soothe the nervousness in his belly. But he couldn't. This was _his_ test. This visit was for him. If he relied on others to make it through, what would that say about him? What would he say about himself?

His hand fell from the panel and sought out the comforting weight on his hip. The Carnifex was new to him. In the past two days he had put several hundred rounds downrange with it, but there was only so much he could do in the simulators or the limited range onboard. He would not need it, not here. It was just another reminder of his newness, of his gnawing insecurities. He would have preferred an Avenger. The ubiquitous Alliance weapon had served him well in his campaign against Saren. It would have been improper to bring it. The dead deserved the respect of a solemn visit. To come ready for war would be a travesty to their memory.

There would be no trouble. Scans showed the crash site was clear of life signs. The area had been untouched for some time. In the first year, some interested parties had descended on the site, but aggressive Alliance patrols had driven them off. The Alliance satellites in place ensured that any straggler pirates would be interdicted before they could launch any operations to disturb the site.

Miranda greeted him as he entered the hangar. The raven-haired Cerberus operative had been responsible for his return. From what little he knew about her, she was the Illusive Man's right hand, an incredible scientist, a vicious warrior, and a stone-cold spy. She had been honest about her job, at least. Warned him upfront that she sent regular reports to the Illusive Man. Shepard still did not know what to think of her. Miranda was 'built' to be superior, and she carried that arrogance as tight to the chest as she wore her Cerberus jumpsuit. The smug sneer that constantly tried to peek out around her frown ruined some of the appeal, but Shepard was holding off on any judgment. She had reason to be arrogant. Her aloof disapproval was only natural for a woman of her 'origin.'

Her compatriot, Jacob Taylor, was easier to understand. Former Alliance, disillusioned by the bureaucracy, hoping to do good in the galaxy. Shepard did not agree with his decision to join in with Cerberus, but he respected the man's record. He was a straight shooter, carried himself like a man with a strong moral compass. His military training had kept as well. That made him dependable, even if his colors were Cerberus.

The Cerberus operatives had donned black-and-gold environmental hardsuits for this visit. It was unnecessary, the surface was near enough the Terran standard. Shepard saw they had laid out an identical suit for him. The Cerberus logo gleamed defiantly on the shoulder plate. Hiding his grimace, Shepard strode past the suit and ducked into the waiting Kodiak. It would be a cold day in hell before he donned Cerberus colors.

Following silently, perhaps understanding his desire for quiet, the Cerberus agents piled in behind him. Miranda's frown had deepened, and the brooding look in her eyes told him that she had noticed his snubbing of the hardsuit. She kept her thoughts to herself, choosing instead to pointedly ignore him. Sitting with a rigidly formal posture, she activated the visual feed on her helmet and synched herself with the Kodiak's systems.

"EDI swept for sabotage left behind by any scavengers. It looks like the site was left more or less alone. The Alliance never released the location of the _Normandy's_ dest-" Jacob caught himself, his unease cutting through. He corrected himself, for Shepard's sake of course. But it just reminded Shepard of what they were visiting. The man's unwillingness to speak it aloud struck him as a bad omen. "...of the site. Site should be clear.."

"Thank you, Jacob." Shepard rapped the hull, alerting their pilot that they were strapped in. The crew chief, Hawthorne, palmed the button to drop the hatch before settling back into his seat. Hawthorne was former Alliance as well. He still hadn't lost the wide-eyed stare that expressed his amazement at Shepard's presence. Didn't stop him from being an excellent crew chief.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, Shepard."

"You don't have to hold back" Shepard assured them. "I died, and I'm back. Thanks to both of you. I'm not some glass vase that needs to be coddled."

"That remains to be seen" Miranda whispered quietly. Her voice was loud enough to be heard. That was intentional. Everything she did was calculated. "We lost at least two months of final tests. Your psyche seems stable, but this will be a major incident."

Shepard chose to not comment. Instead he kept his tone light and cheery. It did no good against the ice-cold composure that was Miranda. He was beginning to wonder if she ever smiled. Certainly not recently, or in public. In many ways she was the polar opposite of Kelly Chambers. Changing his attention to the armorer, he nodded.

"Jacob, how are you feeling?"

"I don't like shuttles" Jacob replied, his voice steady. "Be better when I get good earth beneath my boots."

"You and me both" Shepard joked. He wished that he felt the same confidence.

 **Cadia, Segmentum Obscurus**

 **340.40M**

"Opening fire" Kane announced. His finger flicked the fire selector down to low power, no sense wasting ammunition, and closed back on the trigger. Whispering a prayer for aim, Kane squeezed gently and launched the first Imperial shot of the battle. A dazzling scarlet beam whipped across the battlefield and struck the helmetless Traitor Marine full in the chest, winking out of existence when the laser splatted harmlessly against the Marine's ceramite armor. It hardly slowed him down. Through the scope Kane saw the monster's eyes narrow. Though they were separated by hundreds of yards and Kane was well hidden in the trench, the Traitor Marine's gaze settled unerringly on him. His mouth opened in a bellow that was too far away to hear. The meaning was not lost. Adjusting his charge, the Traitor Marine headed straight in his direction.

That suited Kane well enough. It was easier to hit a target coming straight on. The overconfident warrior must have thought it a misfire, a jumped shot. Astartes were tougher that tanks and harder to kill, but they shared a universal arrogance in their abilities that made them easy to bait. A skilled soldier with the right tools could take one down. Not easily, but it could be done. This was as good a place to test that theory.

The Traitor Marine waved a massive chainsword as he charged, scattering his lesser allies like ninepins in his haste to join in battle. Too impatient to wait for them to clear a path, he hacked and slashed his way through the raving horde, killing a swath through his own forces. That brought a grim smile to Kane's mouth. If only the Enemy spent more time killing each other. it was one of the few pleasant sights in the galaxy.

"You missed" his commissar ally hissed. Her incredulity poked its head through her exhausted composure.

"With respect, ma'am," Kane hardly needed to explain himself to her, but the conversation helped soothe his mind. He shifted his aim, tracking the incoming Traitor Marine as it grew larger in his scope. "I hit exactly what I was aiming for."

"I expected better from a Kasrk-"

Resetting the hellgun to full power, Kane rested his sights on the Traitor Marine's bellowing mouth and released a single shot. The savage scarlet beam that erupted from his weapon was larger, darker, and far deadlier than the previous shot. At full power, hellgun possessed incredible anti-armor qualities. The intensity of the laser bolt gave it the power to punch through light vehicular armor. Not quite as effective against Astartes armor, but he wasn't aiming for armor.

The Traitor Marine could have dodged. He could have deflected the shot with a cut of his chainsword. He could have shifted his gait to take the shot on his heavily armored shoulder. He could have done a hundred things to avoid the incoming beam. In his arrogance, he chose none of those options. The first shot that had struck him had been weak, pitiful. It could have done little more than scar his thick skin. What did he have to fear from such a helpless weapon wielded by such a helpless ma-

The fully-charged hellgun beam struck his head like a missile. Entering through his open, snarling mouth, it severed his spine and punched through the back of his neck in a fountain of superheated blood and gore. His body snapped backwards, going stiff in the blink of an eye as life fled the unholy monstrosity. Feet skidding forwards, he hung suspended in air for a breathless moment. Then his armored corpse toppled backwards, crushing the hapless cultists that followed in his wake.

The death of the Traitor Marine sent a ripple of uncertainty and fear crashing across the nearby cultists. Some stumbled, others stopped in horror as their vile paragon fell. His death snapped them out of their mindless rage for a fleeting moment. For some, it was enough. They turned and ran, scuttling back in the direction they had come. Those behind them fell on those fleeing, cutting down the unworthy with screeching fury. Within moments, that entire portion of the Enemy line had descended into literal chaos.

"You were saying, ma'am?" Kane spared the commissar a glance. She and the lieutenant stared out at the confused brawl, speechless. "Gotta learn to bait them."

Lieutenant Arnold, recovering from his stupor a heartbeat faster than the commissar, turned back to the vox operator behind them. "Give the order. All soldiers, open fire. Heavy weapons on those damned giants."

There were few things more exciting to watch than the opening volley of lasguns. The light show was absolutely beautiful, so brilliant and dazzling in its destructive might. Sheets of blue death crashed into the oncoming cultist horde, dropping whole ranks at a time. Cultists fell in droves, tumbling and spinning in morbid dances as lasers punched through their bodies. For each the fell, dozens more closed in their wake. Kane held no illusions that the cultists would be beaten back by Imperial fire. This battle would be solved in close combat.

A single heavy bolter joined the cacophony, its comforting _whump-whump-whump_ bursts cracking like heaven-sent thunder. It gouged at a Traitor Marine, shells cracking and bursting against his armor and exploding the cultists around it. The Traitor Marine angled his advance towards them. Knowing full well that they had a rat's chance in the Warp of killing the Marine, Kane tracked after the same target. Better to draw it over here where they stood a possible chance. If the commissar and lieutenant were any good, they could possibly take one down in close combat. Not likely, but his killing the first hadn't been likely either.

This one was helmeted, armed with a bolter, and utterly undisturbed by the hail of bolter shells striking him. Blood wept from his visor and mouth grill, gleaming darkly against his red armor. Kane's shots struck his side like hammers, drawing his attention and giving him a moment of hesitation as he decided which foe was more dangerous. Either, neither, it didn't matter. The one with the hellgun lasgun had taken down one of his brothers. That made him by default an enemy worth killing. Kane could imagine the cruel smile stealing across his fanged mouth at the thought of a worthy foe. Gracing the heavy bolter team with a cursory burst of bolter fire, silencing the heavy weapon with expertly placed shots, he turned towards Kane's position and rumbled forward.

Bolter fire raked the trench line, exploding against the dirt and flakboard. Though the Traitor Marine was running at full speed, his accuracy seemed hardly diminished. He sidestepped Kane's returned fire, dodging left and right without breaking stride. Though his ceramite armor would be proof against all but a lucky shot, this one understood that Kane's weapon had already felled one Traitor Marine. That made him dangerous, and begged for some measure of self-preservation. Even Astartes had some sense in that regard.

A bolt shell screamed past, slicing so close that Kane's vision blurred for a moment and a dull pain ripped through his skull. A muted scream came from behind him, cut short in a crumping explosion that threw blood across the trench. Lieutenant Arnold cursed and disappeared from the firing line, returning a moment later dragging the headless vox operator against the trench. He picked up the vox speaker with one hand and continued barking orders as he fired his laspistol at the onrushing horde.

Kane's continued fire did little against the Traitor Marine. The fallen Astartes dodged most of his fire, catching the rest on his most armored plating. If Kane had a squad of Kaskin brothers at his side, they would have laid waste to the bastard. Not even an Astartes could dodge that much firepower.

"Come on, you fracking dancer. Bite one for me." Kane growled as another shot missed. The dazzling beam carried on past the Traitor Marine and split a cultist's head like a melon. A wasted shot. His next trigger pull clicked empty, and he swapped out magazines without sparing a lick of thought to it. The Traitor Marine was too close to miss now, so Kane held down the trigger and hosed the target down. Sixty shots punched into and around the Traitor Marine, opening a few small gaps in his armor, but it did nothing to stop him.  
As the Traitor Marine closed the distance he slung his bolter over his shoulder and drew a weapon more suited to close combat. Holding a gigantic chainsword in both hands, he roared a furious challenge that struck Kane like a physical shockwave.

 _BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!_

Kane leapt back from the trench as the Traitor Marine reached their line. At point-blank range, every shot hit. Power armor blackened and cracked under the tide of high power fire. Blood seeped from the dozen wounds that had punctured. One shot had knifed through his right eyepiece. It might as well have scratched an itch on his nose. The commissar and lieutenant scrambled back desperately to avoid him, firing their sidearms into his heavy armor as he hurled himself over the trench.

The impact of the Traitor Marine's body rocked them back on their heels. This one was huge, even for an Astartes. Foul energy poured out of the Traitor Marine in waves, turning the air icy and clawing at his courage. Just looking at the Traitor Marine made his eyes burn. Blood wept from his armor, coating him in a foul slime that fouled the air.

The Traitor Marine turned his way, chainsword swinging almost blindly. Kane's muscles slackened, his mind grew heavy under the intensity of the Traitor Marine's gaze. He stumbled, dropping to one knee as he struggled to resist. The fall saved his life; the growling chainsword hummed angrily over his head and tore into the trench, ripping out flakboard as if it were paper.

His hellgun felt unbearably heavy in his hands. It took all of his effort to lift it and take aim. The Traitor Marine continued to roar, his breath endless, his will pounding away at Kane like a hammer. He had encountered this before. Champions of Chaos that reeked of foul Warp power.

 _YOUR DEATH SHALL FEED THE GODS OF CHAOS!_

A vicious hum stroked to life on his right. Junior Commissar Blake dashed forward, swinging her power sword with savage fury. Distracted by Kane, the Traitor Marine had left his back open. Her power sword screeched across his back armor, generating a trail of sparks across his plate. The shriek of the blade sang sweet in his ears, washing away the pain of the Traitor Marine's presence. He cradled his hellgun as the fallen Astartes spun back towards the Commissar, cutting from right to left with a powerful swing that would have torn her in two had she not ducked back and down, spinning acrobatically under the blade and regaining her balance in a dueling stance. Her stance indicated speed and defense. The Traitor Marine had reach, strength, power. Her only hope was in remaining out of his grasp. The odds were stacked incredibly out of her favor, but her fearless scowl gave no hint to any trepidation.

She spat on the ground between them. "I will end you, monster. Your existence is an offense to the Emperor."

The Traitor Marine laughed, his voice booming unnaturally loud in the trench. His voice sent them reeling, flooding their minds with terror and fright. Images of despair, broken comrades, shattered banners and demonic hordes strained at the corners of his vision. His limbs ached and burned as if fire flowed in his veins. He nearly let go of his hellgun lasgun in his instinctive urge to grab his arms.

 _YOU DARE STAND AGAINST A CHAMPION OF KHORNE?_

"Bet your power-armored ass" Kane gasped, fighting through the pain. Pushing off the ground with all his strength, he hurled himself shoulder-first into the back of the Traitor Marine's knee. The impact nearly stunned him, driving the air from his lungs and cracking his shoulder. A kick from the Traitor Marine launched him into the air and slammed him against the trench wall. He could hardly breathe, some of his ribs had probably broken. When he landed on the dirt a groan exploded from what little air he retained. The Traitor Marine's boot lifted over his head, preparing to stomp down and end him.

"For Cadia!"

Lieutenant Arnold charged in with his own chainsword, howling desperately to distract the Traitor Marine. His blade whirred down, hungry for blood, but the Traitor Marine was too fast. An expert backhand knocked his chainsword high and severed his head in a gratuitous explosion of gore. His body lifted into the air and slammed down over the fallen vox operator, belching obscene amounts of blood from his gaping neck. Humans didn't have that much blood. Not unless the Ruinous Powers were at work.

Their only comfort was that the Traitor Marine's strike had thrown off his balance, if even for a moment. Seizing the opportunity, the commissar ducked under his outstretched arm and lunged for his midsection. The Traitor Marine shifted his footing, dropping his other hand to catch her blade before it could strike. Against any other opponent such a move would have earned the Traitor Marine an instant victory. His armor would stop all but a full-strength blow from her sword, and he had the speed to snatch it out of their hands before they could manage that. By rights, the commissar was dead.

Junior Commissar Arietta disagreed. Adjusting her strike with snake-like speed, she twisted her blade and ripped free of his grasping fingers, removing his trigger finger in a sizzling flash of power field rending ceramite. Then, backpedalling with a controlled swing to clear space between them, she whipped her sword up into an aggressive overhand strike that stopped his counterattack cold.

Kane watched out of the corner of his eye as he scrambled to draw his sidearm. Her skill was mesmerizing. The commissar's lips pressed together in barely contained fury at the laughing Chaos warrior before launching into another attack. Their blades cut the air in a deadly game of cat-and-mouse, with Commissar Blake as the mouse. She aimed for his chainsword first, trying to disable it and give herself the upper hand. The Champion was onto her game, but he appeared content with making her dance away from his own strokes. They were both swordmasters, but the Traitor Marine had ages of experience and size on his side. Kane snarled as he watched her lose ground. She wouldn't stand a chance on her own. Once he tired of this game he would kill her in an instant.

But she wasn't alone. Drawing his hellgun laspistol in a jerking tug, he sighted on the Traitor Marine's exposed powerpack and pumped the trigger mercilessly. One of his shots found its way into the power cells and set off a small explosion on the Traitor Marine's back. Flames licked out of his pack, sizzling loudly against the blood on his armor. An infuriated roar echoed in his ears. Driving the commissar back with a broad sweep of his chainsword, he whipped back to fix Kane with fiery rage. The fire did not appear to bother the monster. If anything, it made him more terrifying.

 _YOU ARE EAGER FOR DEATH, FOOL!_

The Champion reached up and ripped his helmet free. His face was a mass of bloody scars surrounding eyes that burned with infernal fire. The fearsome scowl on his face sent another wave of dread surging through Kane's mind. The chainsword lashed out, aiming to split Kane down the middle. Rolling frantically out of the way, Kane lost his grip on the hellgun laspistol. He pushed awkwardly off the ground, stumbling further away in desperation to escape the shrieking monster. It did not chase him; Junior Commissar Blake made sure of that by setting upon him with a flurry of blows.

His hand closed on the grip of Lieutenant Arnold's chainsword. It revved weakly at the press of the activation stud, but as Kane pulled himself to his feet it kicked back into high gear. The bloodthirsty growl of the chainsword gave him a rush of adrenaline. This was a weapon that could do something against the Traitor Marine. Fighting through the pain in his shoulder and ribs, he lifted it in a two-handed grip and brought it crashing down at the fallen Astartes' hand as his sword-arm stretched back to prepare a blow. The human-forged chainsword had little chance of penetrating the hardened ceramite chest armor, but against the soft black carapace between the gauntlet and vambrace it would do work.

And work it did, cutting into the surprised Traitor Marine in a grinding clamor of tearing flesh. The skin tore easily, superdense muscles and bones less so. Driving his weight behind the blow, Kane cursed and grimly forced the blade down until it ripped its way through the Traitor Marine's arm and his chainsword dropped to the trench floor with a clatter.

An unearthly howl split the air. Spinning against Kane's strike, the Traitor Marine grabbed him by the helmet, his massive fingers closing around him like a child picking up a ball. There were no words to describe the hate and fury that blazed in the monster's eyes. He emitted an unintelligible scream that drained the blood from his skull, making his vision go black even as the Traitor Marine's fingers began to press in a vice-like grip around his throat.

 _KHORNE WILL FEAST ON YOUR SOUL, PATHETIC MORTAL!_

"To the Warp with you" a strong female voice cried. There was a solid crunching sound, then a shining blue blade exploded out of his chest armor. The Traitor Marine faltered, his grip slackening for a precious moment as his body registered the shock of losing one of his hearts. Kane fell, landing unevenly on his feet. Instinct guided a hand to his belt. Snatching up a krak grenade, he shoved it blindly at the Astartes and pushed away. He could hardly see, but between the Traitor Marine's legs, he thought he saw the commissar go flying backwards as if struck. A feminine cry rent the air asunder.

The krak grenade exploded at the Astartes' feet. His legs disappeared in the ball of fire and the monster toppled to the ground. Capitalizing on the fallen Astartes' predicament, Kane caught up the lieutenant's chainsword and launched a hasty overhand swing at the back of the Traitor Marine's neck. The chainsword sank into the spine, removing the howling monster's head from his shoulders. The head continued to shriek for several seconds before falling silent.

Junior Commissar Blake staggered to her feet, leaning heavily on the trench for support, and graced him with a respectful nod.

And then the Enemy soldiers were flooding the trenches. Kane recovered his hellgun laspistol and greeted the first one with a shot through the eye that tore the raving man's head clean off. Priming a fragmentation grenade, he hurled it over the lip of the trench and let the explosion take care of the ones behind. Then, switching his hellgun to the low power setting, he started putting rounds through them as they came over. Many fell, but more rushed in to fill the gaps. There were too many to hold off. Commissar Blake stood by his side, firing her lascarbine and bolt pistol in rapid bursts. A trio of Cadians rushed into the trench section, firing behind them as they retreated before a swarm of cultists that had already breached the trench line. Kane readied the bloody chainsword and threw himself into their midst, a fierce cry wheezing out of his battered lungs.

Time held no meaning anymore. His objective held no meaning. His allies ceased to exist as his mind became focused on one thing: survival. Hand-to-hand was mindless, gruesome, and as inhumane as combat could be. Wielding the lieutenant's chainsword, his combat bayonet, his hellgun laspistol, and finally swinging his hellgun like a club, he fought and brawled against the endless tide of foes. His world became a blur of bodies and blood. Heads rolled, limbs were severed, people were screaming and grappling in the mud. Only colors mattered. Green and black were good, red and blue were bad. Kill the first. Move on to the next. Find a third. Two at a time, parry and cut. Stab in the back. Block the axe. Slit his throat. Bash his brains in. And on it went.

It was a never-ending frenzy of death.

After what felt like an eternity, the rush subsided, and Kane found himself staring at a trench full of the dead and dying. Only three remained standing in a sea of bodies knee-deep: Kane, an exhausted Junior Commissar Blake, and a bloodsoaked Guardsman wearing Corporal insignia. The commissar's face was as pale as paper-sheaf and streaked with blood and gore. The trooper at their side had plenty of scratches and bruises, but he had dragged himself to a firing point and fired into the retreating Enemy with unrestrained fury. Kane thought he heard the man cursing as he fired.

He did not follow the trooper's example. The battle was over for now. The Enemy had run. Kane gathered up his precious hellgun magazines. Stuffing them into empty pockets, he collected everything he had dropped and hooked the lieutenant's chainsword to his belt. It had proven more than useful and Kane had a feeling he would need it again. The weapon was well-crafted and old; it appeared to be an inherited weapon that had been passed down for many generations. It must have had plenty of kills to its name.

"That's it?" Kane limped to the trench and eased himself beside the trooper, hissing through his teeth as the multitudes of wounds and pains came screaming back to reality. The horde had been scattered. Sporadic fire from the Cadian lines harassed them on their way. Pitifully few lasguns fired. He did not look forward to the roll call. If even one out of four men was shooting, they had less than a hundred bodies left on the line.

He did not understand why the enemy had run. Countless foes remained on the field, easily enough to drown them in sheer numbers. The Imperials were battered, bruised, near the breaking point. Why had they run? Those that had lost their minds to Chaos did not retreat idly.

"We beat them" the trooper crowed, gasping for breath.

"Hold that thought" Kane reprimanded, turning his attention back into the trench. He started walking through the dead, putting a laser through each body's skull. It was a gruesome but necessary work. There was no telling if some cunning cultists had decided to play dead amidst the carnage.

Junior Commissar Blake had fallen to a sitting position against the trench. She had one hand buried in her coat, the other held grimly onto her power sword. Her breathing came slowly and in ragged gasps. "We held them?" The disbelief bled through her tone. She lacked the strength to hide it.

"For now." Kane noticed a body twitching underneath one of the dead Guardsman. Kicking the Imperial's corpse aside, he finished off the moaning cultist with a judicious squeeze of the trigger. "Fracking buggers shouldn't run this easy."

"Easy?" The trooper managed a weak laugh. "They nearly wiped us out."

"Exactly. They shouldn't have turned back at the last minute."

The trooper swallowed nervously, his face paling as he realized what the Kasrkin was saying.

"What's your name, trooper?"

"Corporal Brunson, sir."

"Go take a walk, see who we have left. I want a report back in twenty minutes with armory, body count, and supplies. Understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

The corporal turned to leave. Kane noted that he had the marking of Siege Company. Not a line infantryman. The way he handled himself in the fight was a testament to his stock as a Cadian. There weren't many artillery crew that could stand toe to toe with the Enemy in close combat.

"Belay that order!" The commissar had pulled herself up to look over the trench. The effort pained her, left her panting for breath. Weakly lifting a hand, she pointed out towards the Enemy's lines.

Kane turned and saw the mass of retreating soldiers had begun to regroup. The faceless horde moved with surprising skill, suddenly organizing into solid blocks of infantry formations as if they were trained. The wild masses had vanished, replaced by something far more sinister. Kane did not like that. It took a special sort of evil to turn around the Enemy. Something bad was coming next.

Single lasgun shots continued to snipe out at them, dropping bodies as the cultists attempted to form even ranks. The shooting was disciplined, picking off targets with sharpshooter-grade skill. That was Cadian mettle at work, already recovering from the fight and rearing for more. The rate of fire increased some as more men rejoined the firing line. The cultists were barely in range, but mostly unarmed, so the vast majority of shots struck true. Had their situation not been so dire Kane might have smiled at the way the cultists milled about, filling the gaps as they appeared, waiting for some order that had yet to come. In truth, the Cadian fire did less than throwing pebbles into a lake. The Cadians could have killed a man with every shot and exhausted their ammunition, and still thousands would remain.

So why the hell were they standing about? Kane held his fire, choosing to conserve what ammunition remained for the next attack. It was much harder to recharge his ammunition than the basic lasgun cells. As it turned out, he thought with a sudden numbing dread, his weapon was useless anyways.

It came slowly through the smog-filled battlefield, its heavy footfalls announcing its presence long before it became visible. Earthshaking thumps that rattled loose flakboard and caused corpses to shift made his arms drop to his sides. He did not need to see it to know what it was. A god of war had arrived on the battlefield.

It came out of the smoke like a dream. Tendrils of black smog curled about its gigantic limbs, each larger than a hive block. Jagged crenellations and towers jutted from massive mechanical limbs, decorated with the vilest signs known only to the broken minds of Chaos. A dozen barrels, each as different from the other as a Basilisk from a Vendetta, protruded threateningly in the direction of the Imperial lines. Infernal light glowed out of its apertures. And a throng of monstrous creatures swarmed about its feet. It was far away, several kilometers at least, but Kane still had to look up to see its head. A true god among machines, a weapon of war that signalled the apocalypse.

An Imperator Titan.

He should have felt dread and despair. Kane sighed, instead feeling an overwhelming calmness wash through his veins. The certainty of their death stole away those fears. There was no chance of escape. No chance of life. The finality of death made it much easier to accept.

"So that's a Titan" the commissar breathed. Despite the war machine's twisted purpose, there was no denying the of its original design. A creature of war made by human hands, standing over a hundred meters tall with room to spare. A machine that could lay waste to entire hives by itself. "It is so large."

"That it is."

One of the Titan's weapons began to glow, its thumping power buzzing in their ears from so far away. Kane grimaced. The barrel began to slowly depress, aiming in their direction. "Frack you too, bastard."

"That Titan's aiming right for us" the corporal gasped.

"Test-firing its weapons" Kane assured him humorlessly. "Got to make sure its ready for the main battle."

The commissar's head drooped against her arm, her eyes growing flat and losing their shine. "It is a good death, to die in the God-Emperor's service."

Nodding quietly, Kane stepped over to her and helped her stand. She slumped against him, barely standing on her own. Her breastplate had been split in two, and blood darkened her coat. The paleness in her face was ghastly. "Easy there, ma'am. You can rest now."

"What is that gun?" Corporal Brunson pointed at the Titan. It didn't matter which one he was asking for. Kane hadn't a clue, and he did not expect it to matter. All he knew was the Titans carried weapons that broke cities.

"Warp blaster" the Commissar said wearily, sounding like a tired teacher addressing her petulant student. She took a long, rattling breath. "It tears a hole in reality, a split-second portal that drags everything nearby into the Warp."

"We could always charge them" Kane offered. Neither of the Cadians appreciated the idea.

Kane frowned when he realized he could see his breath frosting in the air. Ice began to creep into the trench, a purplish substance that was entirely unnatural. The temperature dropped noticeably. Off in the distance, the Titan's weapon rose to a whining crescendo. There was a snap of ear-splitting shrieking, a blinding light, and Kane welcomed his death.


	2. Strangers In Paradise

**A/N: And the crossover begins.**

 **Reviews:  
Unaies98- Yup, Cadians don't get enough love. Especially since SOMEONE decided to blow up their planet.  
Redentor- Not related to the vampire humper. Not even sure which vampire humper you are referring to, but can definitely say she has no relations  
Guest- Every scifi setting has different laser phsyics. And in the make-believe world of fiction, it's entirely plausible that a man might track the barrel's trajectory and preempt the shot.  
Guest 2- I literally have no idea what that was  
Mr Exterminatus- This is the same Kane, but before all the Inquisition stuff went down and he went from stone-cold Kasrkin to a bit of an emotional sap (not going to lie, really regret how I wrote Kane. Good character, maybe, but terrible Kasrkin)  
boothnat- Well, we're only in the first chapter. Let's hope it stays as good  
Jouaint- Will do!  
vindicare241- I try. This story is going to be a pretty gritty ME setting  
Emberframe- lol. What's not to love about Cadians fighting against World Eaters? Tale as old as time.  
Blinded in a bolthole- Female commissars are pretty rare for that exact reason. Glad you liked it. Spent way too much time rewriting it over and over and expanding it.  
dekuton- Hopefully I will satisfy  
kukuhimanpr- Murderhobos will reign supreme!  
Guest 3- It's hard to find any good crossovers, usually. Glad you like this one so far.  
el mano- Nothing is more beautiful than blood in the trenches  
ksgrip- I'm honestly not certain who the romance will be in this one. ME1 choice was Ashley, for reasons, but not quite set on the Tali thing. Liara is old news, so to speak. That was the big early fad. And Tali has picked up quite a huge fanbase so it is already sort of established. Leaning towards Tali, but I am still figuring it out.  
Chris c2po-My hope is that it will continue as a prosperous and grimlight story  
Plaguebearer Palugea- Then I will try to make you wait as little as possible  
edboy4926- It should prove quite entertaining  
Disciple of Ember- I felt the same way when I realized you had a huge story of your own I had never noticed. Started reading it, slowly, keep it up on my phone so I can pick away at it because I tend to be a slow reader these days. Need to find and watch the anime so I know who the characters are, though so far you have done a fantastic job making them understandable. Reading the Shanxi fanfic (which is goddamn heavenly as far as storytelling goes. Absolutely fantastic), helped solidify how I wanted Shepard to be as a person. He was already a bit that way, more of a somber Shepard.  
MrMyself- Ask and you shall receive, eventually  
spasticpandakid- ?  
kyro2009- Thank you, I tried to make it pretty for y'all  
Guest 4- Well, he doesn't know what happened, so in all fairness he could totally claimed he stared it down and the whole thing went Skaven  
dghornick- Yup, nothing can go wrong with a commissar interacting with asaria. Heheheehe  
Commissar Critical- Glad you loved the battle scene.  
Reclusiarch Grimaldus- I tried hard to make a good first impression. Got to get y'all hooked early  
Meatzman2- yup. Warhammer into Mass Effect.  
HTM- I tend to not like crossovers that shoot straight into the crossover without giving a starting spring. Shepard's personality in this one is meant to be more realistic than the "I was dead for 2 years and half an hour later I'm fine as rain" Shepard. Trying to bring in the touch of grimdark without spilling full Warhammer.**

* * *

 **Alchera, Amada System**

 **2185**

"Wow." Jacob stepped into the gaping hole that led to the pilot's cabin. He ducked under some hanging wires and shined the pistol lamp down the length of the corridor. "So this is the old SR-1. I see the resemblance."

Shepard said nothing. He began making his way down, stepping over loose debris. So many memories lingered in the air. He took a deep breath before stepping past the broken emergency bulkhead. Joker had sat there. That was where he found out his pilot was one of the most determined and skilled men he had ever met. Even Vrolik syndrome couldn't keep him from his dream. Shepard felt a slight tightness in his chest as he thought about the man, now sitting in the pilot seat of the SR-2. If he had to make the choice again, whether to save Joker's life or not, it would always be the same. Joker's life had been worth dying for. Every soul on the SR-1 had been worth dying for.

"I can't believe Joker used to sit in this piece of junk" Jacob said, examining the chair. There was a strained laugh and Shepard knew that, once again, the Cerberus agents were trying alleviate what they thought was a devastating moment for him. It was, but he was okay. The memories swirled in his mind, so many good times that were lost in the past. So many friends he would never see again. But that was life, and he had to move on. Hold onto the good memories, let go the old ones. If Shepard had been a man to hold onto bad memories, he never would have survived N7 training.

What really hit him hard were the dog tags he had stuffed in a belt pouch. Twenty of his crew had been lost when the ship went down. That was only the ones they did not have accounted for at the time. He had read the report many times over, before and after his death. Twenty missing, thirteen confirmed dead, seven critically wounded. It was a slight casualty report for having the ship go down in a surprise attack, but it was forty too many for Shepard's liking. He spent a moment staring at the chair.

He thought through the dead and realized he could not remember all of their faces. Perhaps it was better that way. There were too many faces. At some point he had to stop dwelling on the lost. Every loss a tragedy, but not every tragedy a crutch. That was part of the reason he had chosen to come down and see the crash site in person. It wasn't so he could get lost in the wreckage and have some universe-changing epiphany. It was because he wanted to honor the dead and remind himself why he was fighting. They had paid the same sacrifice as his father, as he had. Only, Shepard had been the lucky one that came back.

"Shepard?"

Miranda stood at the top of the corridor. Her eyes were glued to her omnitool. Shepard tore his gaze from the chair and motioned for Jacob to follow him up.

"What is it, Miranda?"

"I… don't… know." She gave him a blank stare and showed the readings. The first thing Shepard noticed was that every energy-type on the spectrum was spiraling off the charts. Gamma, x-ray, heat, dark energy, gravity, everything. He checked his wrist counter. Same thing. Something was either affecting their tech or going crazy outside.

"Joker! Joker, this is shore party. Come in."

No response. Shepard swore and double-checked his omnitool. The energy was spiralling out of control, reaching critical levels that did not exist outside of nuclear reactions. It was coming from their west. Drawing his Carnifex, he moved to the edge of the wreckage and looked outside. Inside the wreckage, there was little to no wind. But just a hand's reach out, the current howled and shrieked like banshee wails. Small chips of rock hurtled through the air, thrown about with the ease of a child hurling snowballs. Some natural rock pillars stood between them and the disturbance. It was hard to see; the snow had picked up and was flurrying about, a cold maelstrom shielding the glowing light inside. The purple haze stretched and grasped from a point hidden by the pillars. Purple. Shepard had never seen anything like that before.

"Something's out there." Shepard pointed to their right, away from the disturbance. "Move to that high ground. Let's get eyes on while we wait for the _Normandy_ to make contact again. Jacob, take point."

"On it, Shepard." The once-marine drew his own sidearm and started moving, not quite running but not jogging either. Shepard and Miranda followed after giving him a short interval, each dividing their attention between their omnitools and their destination. He craned his neck to try and spot the anomaly through the rocks. It would have to wait until they cleared the hill.

"Any clue, Miranda?"

"It is like nothing I have ever seen before" she answered, her irritation dripping thick through her tone. Leave it to Miranda to be more bothered by her lack of information than by the actual event itself. The readings continued to grow more chaotic, spiking so incredibly that Shepard's omnitool began to stutter. He briefly considered giving the order to run like hell. Every instinct in his body screamed that they needed to clear the area. This sort of energy buildup did not go away quietly.

"Readings are off the charts" she continued, frantically tinkering with her omnitool as she crested the hill and slid into cover. "I am attempting to contact the _Normandy_. Radio waves are too scrambled by this energy field. It is not interference, not directly; there is simply-"

Shepard joined her in ducking under cover, taking a second to orient himself before peering up over the rocks. PIllar stood in the way. Jacob had a better vantage point a few feet down.

"Jacob, what do you see?"

"I…" Jacob did not answer. Glancing his way, Shepard noted that the man's brows were furrowed in a confused frown. "I can't describe it, Shepard."

The air was howling, whistling past his ears at incredible speeds. The ground shook, pebbles bouncing and rolling. He put an idle hand on the ground to steady himself. He did not like this. The pressure in the air reminded him of a capital ship breaching atmosphere. His ears popped as the temperature continued to drop. Shuffling over to Jacob's side, he risked his own look.

Jacob was right. It could not be described. The piercing purplish light seemed to burn with the fire of a sun, stinging his eyes, but the light itself hardly stretched to the pillars before it vanished. Almost as if the light was being held back, locked into place. Swirling through the tumult of color and fury, sparks of lightning chipped out and exploded nearby rocks, striking them with the force of artillery. Splinters launched into the air, slowing just feet away from their initial position, hanging motionless the the galeforce winds.

A soft gasp slipped from his throat. Ice was forming over his hands, sliding into his armor as if they were under zero temperature. He swiped at his arm, clearing the frigid substance even as it continued to frost on his plating. Purple ice. Why the hell was it purple? It wasn't even cold.

"The fuck" Jacob cursed, wiping frantically at his weapon. The same mysterious substance glided across his sidearm, curling around it like the tendrils of a monster. "The hell is going on, Miranda?"

"I don't know" she admitted. The words came out through clenched teeth. The faint shimmer of her biotics flared against the same odd ice-form. It did not sit well with Miranda to be at a disadvantage. Her anger would have been comical were it not for their predicament.

"Jacob, send up an emergency beacon. If we can reach through to the _Normandy_ I want t-"

There was a blinding flash, the purple energy finally releasing, bending around rock and flooding every inch of the crash site. Even with his eyes closed and buried in his arm, it burned Shepard's eyes and made his head ache. The light persisted for a moment, accompanied by a bone-rattling hum. Then it contracted, light curling back into itself for a microsecond, retreating so quickly that Shepard's vision blacked out from the drastic change. A lurching sensation of weightlessness tugged at his limbs. Miranda's surprised curse alerted him that he was not the only one. He grasped blindly for something to anchor himself, and pulled himself as tight to the ground as he could.

The silence remained in place for a heartbeat longer, then came a noise to awful it sounded as if reality was being torn asunder. A rending thunderclap that echoed of shrieking souls and monstrous cries slapped the air. A sweeping wave of force tore him free from cover and hurled him backwards, spinning helplessly like a flailing missile. His companions' shouts were barely audible over the wailing explosion, the crunch of shattering rocks, and the mind-numbing concussion of slamming into a plate from the _SR-1's_ hull.

As abruptly as the explosion came, it ended. The screaming vanished, the dust settled, and rocks tumbled to the ground. Shepard stared up at the sky, catching his breath, head ringing. A spinning shard of the _SR-1's_ hull came scything past him, deflecting harmlessly off a rock and soaring into the air. Then all noise ceased. For several long, terrible seconds, he could hear nothing except his own breathing. Silent alarms blinked on his eye-visor. One fractured arm, internal bleeding, multiple bruised organs, minor concussion. The Lazarus Project had seen fit to implant cybernetic augmetics in his body, nanomachines that repaired injuries at an extremely fast rate. Give it a couple minutes and he'd be about ready to stand.

"Bloody hell" Miranda growled beside him. She slunk into view, brushing invisible dust off of her suit. It looked as if she had not been touched. Her hair was just as smooth and styled as before, her skin unblemished by scratches. It was entirely possible she had used a biotic forcefield to protect herself. "Shepard, are you okay?"

"Fine" he tried to say. All that came out was a bubbling gurgle. Warm blood spat out of his mouth, splashing against his face. Turning his head to the side, he spat out the blood and saliva. "Yeah, I'm okay. Jacob?"

"Felt like I took a roundhouse from a krogan" Jacob said, scrambling to his feet. He wobbled for a moment, fighting to steady himself. Apart from a couple scrapes, he appeared unharmed. "What the hell was that?"

"No idea, Jacob." Shepard eased himself up, taking deep breaths to test out how badly he had been hurt. His chest ached, but it was nothing he couldn't push through. An uncomfortable tingle spread through his arm. He could imagine the nanmachines repairing the fracture. "Miranda, report?"

"All energy readings have dissipated" she replied, checking her omnitool. "Communications are still down."

"Interference?"

"No." She tapped away at her omnitool. "The opposite. It is as if all radio waves have been sucked out of his area."

"Is that even possible?"

"Apparently" she growled, her scowl darkening. "Just wait one… there, I have signal reestablished."

" _SR-2 Normandy to shore party! SR-2 Normandy to shore party. Come in, Commander Shepard!"_

Joker's voice must have been blaring, but it sounded muted and faroff in Shepard's ear. "I'm here, Joker."

" _Thank God! What the hell just happened down there? EDI just about went nuts trying to keep up with the energy signature. Are you all okay?"_

"We're fine. Battered, but fine." Shepard looked at the others for confirmation. Jacob had moved up to examine the explosion site. He waved a hand, held up three fingers. A warning glance over his shoulder alerted Shepard that something needed his attention. "Joker, hold on a second"

He cut the link and pushed himself to his feet. "What do you see, Jacob?"

"Three of them" he answered. "Right at the epicenter of the blast."

He peered out over their cover. It was hard to see at this range. There was a lot of dust and snow tossed in the air. But he could see three dark forms in the distance. The area around them had been glassed by intense heat. Multiple rock pillars had collapsed outwards, confirming that they indeed stood in what had been the center of the blast.

"That wasn't… how did they survive that and where did they come from" Jacob muttered, eyes wide as he took in the damage.

"Magic?" Shepard let out a long, exhausted breath. His skull ached; he could actually feel the implanted nanobots going to work repairing ruptured blood vessels and bruised bones. Felt like spiders skittering under his skin. Both of the Cerberus agents stared at him. He shrugged and checked his Carnifex. The weighty pistol had survived the blast without harm. Flicking the safety off, he gestured forward. "Gut reaction. Didn't say I thought it likely. We're moving in, establishing contact. Jacob, Miranda, swing wide. Stay in cover. Until we know their intentions, assume potential threat. I will initiate, you provide overwatch."

"You think they're hostile?"

"They just appeared out of an explosion" Shepard grunted. It hurt to walk. Enhanced healing or not, he would be feeling this one for days. "I'd say I don't know what to think."

 **-v-**

They weren't dead.

Kane could not explain it. One moment they were facing down the wrath of a dark god. The next… he stood on a snow-covered plateau, surrounded by silence. Not a sound of life around them, not a sign of battle to be found. Just the soft whisper of wind cutting between the rock pillars surrounding them. He did not know where they were, but it was not Cadia.

He turned slowly, drinking in their new environment. The ground was relatively flat, broken by snowbanks and rocky pillars. Fifty meters to his left, the plateau fell away and offered a grand view that stretched for kilometers. Endless mountains and plateaus. It reminded him some of the far northern reaches of Cadia, but there were less plateaus and more mountains. He could see the planet's sun, much smaller than the Cadian sun. No, this was a very different place. A different world.

About five seconds later he realized he was breathing. His left hand dropped for the rebreather at his hip, catching his breath in his throat at the reminder that different world meant different atmosphere sparked into his mind. By the time his fingers closed around the rebreather the gesture struck him as unnecessary. There was no stinging in his lungs. The others were breathing beside him, the commissar more heavily than the corporal. At the very least, they could breathe. And if there was something poisonous in the air, well, it was too late for that now.

But what were they breathing? He snatched his auspex up and studied it. Environmental readings reported near to Terran standard, with minor elevations in nitrogen. No toxic elements noted except for negligible traces of iron and other things that matched the profile of rusting metals and biodegradation.

The ground at his feet crunched as he shifted his weight. A sea of glassed rock and steaming puddles surrounded them. He had seen teleportation before, seen how in some instances the less-elegant teleportation matrixes created small burn marks when people materialized. But nothing this large. It looked as if they stood in the center of a titanic explosion. The kind of explosion that melted tanks and cut through Titan armor.

Where were they?

To his right, the wrecked hulk of what must have been a spaceship. Its parts lay scattered across the plateau, a shattered skeleton in its final resting place. Paint burned and peeled away, details weathered by time and hidden by snow. He studied it carefully, attempting to recognize its design. Not Imperial, too sleek and slim for that. Not Eldar, it was too angular and dart-shaped for that. Not Tau either; the coloring was wrong and it was not blocky enough. Definitely not Ork, or Chaos. Nor anything like he had seen before. Xenos, but of a kind he did not recognize.

The thought sent his finger seeking the comfortable touch of his hellgun's trigger guard. He picked out the faded remains of what might have been lettering on a piece of the wreck's hull, but the language was foreign. A quick visual confirmed that the runes appeared legible, in that he could picture himself drawing such shapes with little difficulty. Possibly not xenos, then. Perhaps a lost human dialect. The straight and angular lines seemed familiar.

There was little more to be gained by staring about. Returning his attention to his comrades, Kane took stock of them. Junior Commissar Arietta Blake had regained her feet, all her weight leaning into her power sword. Her face had paled to a ghastly grey, lips blueing around the edges. She needed medical attention immediately. One hand buried in her guts, she nodded weakly to him and made a noise that sounded somewhere between a grunt and a whimper. She tried to look about, but her motions were sluggish and delayed.

The other one, the corporal, stared about like a blind man who had just regained his sight. He held his lasgun in limp hands, head on a loose swivel as he took in their new environment. His jaw hung open stupidly, too confused to keep it closed.

"Eyes front" Kane snapped. The corporal jumped, his weapon leaping to his shoulder. Casting the Kasrkin a shamed grimace, the trooper nodded and began scanning the one hundred eighty degree arc to his front with full attention. He dropped to a knee, bracing his weapon in case he needed to fire. It was a move made out of pure reflex; the man had no idea what to do. Orders made it easy. When in doubt, follow orders. _The idle mind is the Enemy's workshop_.

Retreating to the Commissar's side, Kane double-checked his power pack. The soft amber light at the base of the pack warned him that he was almost empty. Just a couple more magazines after that. They needed to find shelter. At the least, a place to limit their visibility and get a fire going to recharge their packs. His attention shifted as the Commissar took her blood-soaked hand away from her stomach and fumbled for her holstered bolt pistol. He put a firm hand over it, indicating she need not worry.

"Sit down, ma'am. I'll get to you in a moment."

She tried to glare at him, mutter something about the need to secure their position, but her voice failed her. Refusing to sit, she merely stuck her hand back into her coat and began whispering a litany of strength through nerveless lungs.

"What am I looking for" Corporal Brunson called out. The barely restrained panic in his voice told Kane that the man was just barely holding it together. He could not blame the man. A minute ago they had been staring down a warzone they had just fought and killed over. Now they were somewhere entirely different, surrounded by an entirely new environment. He thought back to the Titan's weapon. The warp blaster. Was this the Warp? Had they been launched into hell? That was a rather disconcerting idea.

"Everything" Kane replied. He risked taking a few steps away from the commissar and started in the direction of the wreckage. Nothing rose to greet him, no shadowy figures or screaming hordes of daemons. Perhaps this wasn't the Warp. It felt too… normal. From what he had been told in the sermons, the Warp was a place where reality had no meaning. Where physics held no sway and the mind ran rampant on unadulterated lusts. It was pure chaos. This plateau was not chaotic. It was entirely ordinary.

"Where the frak are we, Sergea-"

"Don't worry about where we are" Kane barked. "Focus on what we are. Ammo count, now! Injury report as well."

"I, uh, yes."

Kane listened to the clacking of equipment as Corporal Brunson checked his gear.

"One magazine, full load. Three empty. One in the chamber, got maybe… eight shots left? Couple spares in my pockets. I picked up the lieutenant's laspistol as well. Just two magazines for that, both empty. No, one slotted. Sweet Sainthood, it's full load."

"Good. Injury?"

"Scratches" he answered. The mindless task had returned a bit of his senses. He spoke with more conviction the more he talked. "Left wrist is pretty bruised, but I'll manage."

"Understood. Ma'am?"

"Sergeant." The commissar's voice was terribly weak. Kane slung his hellgun and turned to help her. Beneath her coat he saw the extent of her wounds. Her cuirass had been shorn in half. The entire shirt and pants were drenched in blood. It trickled through her fingers like a tributary, eager to join the full river. "Bi… biofoam."

"On it, ma'am." He groped for the emergency kit stowed in his left leg pouch. Ripping the sturdy ties that held it closed, he snatched up a single-use biofoam canister and pushed her cuirass back. Her body trembled, and her eyes pressed closed as she bit down on a cry of pain. "Easy does it, ma'am. That'll hold you for a minute. Let me get our situation settled and I'll hit you with everything we've..."

His words were lost when Corporal Brunson let out a panicked cry.

"Contact, my front!"

Kane spun towards the alert, sliding his hellgun free and sighting down the scope before Corporal Brunson's words ceased ringing in his ears. Stepping in front of the commissar as a shield, he allowed a heartbeat's hesitation to ensure they were not taking fire before searching out the cause of the trooper's worry.

There. A humanoid figure in dark grey armor had appeared from behind one of the rock formations. Its armor shared similarities with the wrecked ship's design: sleek, curved edges, and slim. Not as slim as Eldar armor, but not as bulky as Guard flak. It covered his entire body except for a bared head. The face was human, or at least close to. In the shadows of the rocks it was hard to tell.

The stranger advanced slowly, hands held up and to the sides in the universal gesture of declaring unarmed. Not trusting the gesture alone, Kane scanned the person's figure for weapons. An unidentified device on his hip, potentially a weapon but nothing he had seen before. An orange glow emanated from the back of his left wrist. Warp energy he had seen before had been purple, so that was also an unknown. His posture spoke military.

The newcomer stopped a rock's throw away, waiting in silence. Kane extended a hand and motioned for him to approach, his eyes darting left to right in case there were more. None that he could see. Either the man was alone or he had well-hidden companions. The latter seemed more likely. This was no survivor of the crash. The crash reeked of age. This one looked fresh and clean.

"Come out where we can see you" Kane ordered.

The figure hesitated. He faced Kane, then resumed advancing, this time much slower and with more deliberation. As the stranger came out of the shadows, Kane grew certain that the stranger was indeed human. It had a human's face, too thick and heavy to be Eldar. He had short cropped hair with dark eyebrows and luminous, bright blue eyes. He had scars as well, scars that seemed to glow with an inner light that might have been concealed augmetics.

Human did not reassure Kane. Humans could be just as dangerous as xenos. More so, even. He had fought against men that had sided with xenos, with Chaos, with simple anarchy even. One thing he had learned at a young age, mankind had the greatest potential for good, and an equal potential for evil as well. He had no way of knowing if the man in front of him swore allegiance to the God-Emperor of Mankind or some other power.

If this man swore by the aquila, they had found a strange ally. His armor was of a kind Kane had never seen nor heard of before. The armored plating reminded Kane of ceramite power armor, but it lacked the bulkiness of anything he had seen before and there was no visible power supply. This seemed almost thin, not even as thick as Guard flak. Perhaps it was not an armored suit, but an environmental suit. That would not make sense, because he had his head uncovered. What was it then? Was it some Tau model? He grimaced at the thought. Of all the Imperium's enemies, the Tau were one he had yet to fight. The unfiltered reports that Kasrkin gained access to did not paint a pretty picture of Tau-Imperial war zones.

"Name" Kane demanded. "And who do you serve?"

The stranger blinked slowly, one eyebrow twitching in confusion. He slowly lowered a hand to point at his chest and said something in a tongue that Kane had not heard before. There were no recognizable words. Nothing he had heard before. Certainly not a dialect of Gothic he recognized. He asked the questions again, switching to the most common Low Gothic dialect. Again, nothing. He repeated the question in six different tongues, going as far to use an ancient and unused dialect that he had not spoken since his early Schola days.

When even that failed, Kane found himself considering the possibility that they had found a lost world, perhaps a pre-Imperial colony that had yet to be rediscovered. Unable to communicate verbally, he tapped the aquila on his helmet. The most primitive Imperial citizens recognized the sign of the aquila. Throne curse them, even the xenos recognized it. It was a rare corner of the galaxy that did not see the aquila and show some sort of reaction. But this man showed nothing. His confusion deepened, and a frustrated frown creased his face. He spoke to Kane, babbling in his unintelligible language, repeating gestures not unlike Kane had to draw attention to his own markings. A pair of runes on his chest plate, a symbol on his shoulder plate.

The stranger stepped closer. Kane centered his rifle at the man's chest. "Stop moving. That's far enough."

He might not have understood the Kasrkin's words, but he understood the rifle. Asking what sounded like a question, he lowered his hands to his sides, keeping them clear of the item on his hip. They faced each other for several long seconds, neither knowing what to do.

"Corporal."

"Yes, Sergeant?"

Kane took one hand off his hellgun and pointed at the stranger. "Search him, take any weapons."

"Aye, Sergeant." The corporal started forward, his lasgun aimed not-quite at the stranger's torso. His arms trembled, his lasgun wavered. Kane disapproved, but he understood. The man was not dedicated line infantry. He had campaigned, certainly, but line infantry were hardened against the strange and unusual. This certainly qualified as both. Fighting through the battle had stretched him enough. He could not have much more left in him.

Shifting shadows to his left alerted Kane that the stranger had allies. Kane took his eyes off the man long enough to scan both directions, noting bodies appear on each side. These carried arms, and they had them drawn at Corporal Brunson.

"Back on me" he barked, switching his aim to draw on the figure to his right. Another man, human, of stocky build in a similar set of armor to the first, but colored black and white. His skin was darker than shadow, and he moved determinedly forward. A soldier. Not heavily armed though. Was this a light patrol they had encountered? The weapon in his hand, unfamiliar except for its general shape, had to be a sidearm. No sign of heavier weapons on him. There was a third figure to his left. His peripheral vision gave him details: black hair, pale skin, white and black suit, sidearm in her hands. Her movements were poised and elegant. The arrogant sneer spoke of a hostile threat.

The first stranger called out, turning his head to address his companions. They lowered their weapons, though those weapons remained drawn and armed. Better, but not by much. The man spoke again, showing something on his face that might have been apologetic. The Kasrkin refused to allow himself to be distracted. He took a step back, angling himself so he could keep all three in his vision at the same time. The female stiffened, her body jerking as she resisted the urge to circle further around him. She knew what he was doing, and it irked her.

"Kasrkin." Junior Commissar Blake wheezed unsteadily behind him. She slumped against his shoulder. "Kas...in. I am going to pass out now. Don't…"

Her body slid down his back, collapsing senselessly with a clatter of falling sword. Her shoulder jabbed into the back of his leg, forcing him to drop to a knee to keep his footing. A quiet curse, amplified by his helmet's vox-speaker, split the air like a grenade.

The unexpected flurry of motion must have registered in the corporal's peripheral vision. His frayed nerves snapped, thinking his comrades were taking fire, and he jerked the trigger on his lasgun. A single las round snapped out of his rifle, narrowly missing the man's head. The stranger ducked with prenatural speed, his life spared by the trooper's panic-driven jerking of his weapon. Staggering backwards to recover, the man reached for his weapon.

"Hold your fire" Kane shouted, reaching blindly behind for the commissar's body. The stranger's companions had lifted their weapons and were a hair-trigger away from opening fire. He considered his odds; He could put two of them down, assuming they were competent shots, before the last would drop him down. Their spacing was good, their stances were good. The odds were not in his favor. "Drop your weapon, Corporal! Weapon down!"

The stranger was shouting something as well, waving frantically to his companions. He seemed to have the same idea as Kane, because at his command the others lowered their weapons again. The female glared furiously at Corporal Brunson. If she had the choice, Kane knew she would have put the trooper down. She was a vicious one.

The trooper stood stock still, frozen in place, his rifle pointing aimlessly past the stranger. Kane swore loudly and stormed forward. Grabbing the barrel of the trooper's lasgun, he shoved it downwards. The corporal blanched, fear spilling over his face as he realized what he had just done. He eased his hand free, raising it to show he was not hostile.

"Sorry, Sergeant. I thought someone had attacked you."

"If they took me down" Kane grunted. "You'd have already been dead."

He might have been Siege Company, but he knew how to take the rebuke. Keeping his silence, he continued to hold his lasgun with one hand. The other fell to his side. The man was straining to not turn and check on the commissar.

"Sergeant, is the commissar still with us?"

"Remains to be seen" Kane said without humor. He studied the woman, easily the highest threat potential. She was a tall and striking figure, with rich raven hair and a regal face that couldn't have been better formed with a thousand years of selective breeding. She had noble features. She had the commissar's features. No, not quite the same. Subtle differences, and particularly the eyes. But there was enough there to make him think twice. Her stance was masterful, crafted like a haughty Adepta Sororitas battle sister sans-armor.

The other was a man of the kind that Kane knew well. He was not particularly tall, but his form was muscular, threatening, and he held his weapon in a two-handed grip like a professional. His dark skin made it hard to see his eyes in the dim light of the blue sun. Kane was fairly certain the man's attention rested on Trooper Brunson. The situation left Kane torn. The Commissar was lying on the ground, drenched in a growing pool of her blood. But there were unknowns here, potentially hostiles. If he took his eyes off of them they could be killed. If he let the Commissar die, then they were at an even worse disadvantage. This was one of those nightmare scenarios that was only answerable from instinct built over time on the battlefield.

Kane slung his hellgun and motioned for Trooper Brunson to do the same. Giving the strangers a final glance, he turned away and started tending as best he could to the Commissar's wound. He did not have much in the way of an aid kit. The violence of battle had ruined most of his gear. Her chest had been rendered into a gruesome mess. Kane could smell a faint vapor of charred metal and cauterized flesh. She had not been fast enough. The Traitor Astartes' chainsword had nicked her. It must have been a very light graze, because the wound only went as far as her ribs. Those that had been struck were deeply scratched and ripped. How she had managed to keep fighting was a testament to the woman's willpower. That kind of trauma would have dropped an ordinary human.

Her heart beat so weakly that Kane could not feel it. The sickening spurts of blood were his only indicator that she still lived. He used the last of his biofoam to reinforce the wound's seal, then set about looking for something to bandage it. A small voice in the back of his skull told him it wouldn't matter; this kind of wound was not survivable. Not unless she could reach a well-equipped medicae facility in the next fifteen minutes. That did not mean Kane was going to give up though. As long as there was a chance he would fight for her.

"Sergeant." The corporal's tone indicated fear. "Sergeant, he's walking this way."

Kane looked over his shoulder in time to see the newcomer stop at a non-threatening distance. The stranger fished something out of his pack and held it out for Kane to inspect. The Kasrkin did not recognize it, but the man pointed from the container to the Commissar. The intention was clear. _I can help._

They had no other options. His meager pack was good for small things, not this mess. If the strange man could help, he needed to accept that. Once everything was settled and under control he could worry about what to do with them. For the time being, he swallowed his pride and motioned for the man to approach. Drawing up to her side, he knelt down and spent a moment inspecting the wound. His face twisted in horror at the sight. Clearly, he had never seen a human carved up by a chainsword before. That did not stop him from stretching out a hand to touch the biofoam. He studied it carefully, glancing up at Kane to ask what must have been a question. He shrugged to show his lack of an answer.

The man began to wipe the biofoam away. Kane snarled and grabbed the man by the wrist, clamping down with enough force to stop him cold. The biofoam was the only thing holding her guts inside her. Removing it would only kill her faster.

The other two started forward, weapons raised for the third time in as many minutes. Corporal Brunson started to grab his lasgun, but before he could, the dark-skinned man bounded forward and shoved his weapon into the trooper's face. Brunson's face drained of color; he cast a pleading glance over to Kane.

"Sarge!"

A barked order from the stranger stopped his compatriots. Kane grimaced under his visor. Foolish move. The man had indicated he wanted to help. Why would he bother killing her this way if he could have just shot them all when they slung their weapons? In his own way, he was attempting to aid the commissar. Maybe he had a different method. Whether he did or not, Kane's action had been uncalled for. It had been an instinctive move, to protect his commissar. Right now he needed to put his instincts on the back-burner. Especially right now; a single wrong move could spark a brutal and too-short bloodbath.

Releasing the man's wrist, he rose to his feet and took a step back. Adrenaline pounded through his veins, muscles itching for action. He was still coming down from the high of combat. His body wanted to fight. His mind needed him to remove himself from that possibility. So he stepped away, watching carefully, arms crossed over his chest to keep them still.

The strange man finished wiping the biofoam from the wound and began applying his own supply of a clear, jelly-like substance. Kane frowned as he examined the container it came from. No sign of the aquila or any other kind of Imperial marking. Heretech, he thought darkly. Perhaps not xenos-heresy, but it was unsanctified technology at the least. For a hint of a breath he wondered if it was some pre-Imperial medicine. He dismissed that out of hand. Just because they were surrounded by unknowns did not mean they should dwell on them.

He mused in silence, preferring to let the results speak for themselves. To his surprise, the gel took immediate effect. It seemed a multi-purpose substance. Some of it seeped into the wound and the damaged tissue began to regain color and heal before his very eyes. The outer layer hardened, providing a protective, see-through layer over the wound. Within moments the blood flow had ceased. And though he stood too far away to inspect the wound with detail, he could have sworn the scratches on the ribs were fading. The sight left him astounded. No Imperial medicine could match that efficiency. This medicine was something revolutionary. Hell, he doubted even the Eldar had something that effective. What in the Golden Throne was that?

The stranger finished by covering her wound with a flesh-colored bandage. His work complete, he wiped his hands on his armor and pushed himself to his feet. The commissar's body was very still, almost deathly still. When the man turned to Kane, the Kasrkin knew that the commissar still had a long way to go. But for now, she was stable.

"Th… thank you." Kane did not know what to make of the man. He looked human, his mannerisms were human. But he was about as foreign to Kane as an Ork. For now though, he needed allies. And this man had yet to show any hostility. Perhaps there was a chance they could establish some sort of peace.

The grimness on the stranger's face faded. He must have understood the intent behind the words, because he held out a hand. Kane hesitated before accepting his grip. The man had a strong grip, a warrior's grip. They shook hands once.

" _Shae-pord_ " the man said, pointing to himself with his free hand. Kane repeated the name. The man's smile grew wider.

"Sergeant Kane, 414th Kasrkin Company." The stranger's smile faded slightly, replaced by puzzlement as he attempted to pick out a name. Kane sighed under his breath. "Kane.

" _Kayne_."

 _Throne be merciful,_ Kane prayed. _Deliver us in this foreign land that knows not Your light._

 ** _-v-_**

Shepard let go of the man's hand and took a step back. From a distance he had appeared a fearsome warrior-type with massive armor and weaponry. Face to face, basking in the full glory of the figure's size, Shepard stood a full head shorter than the warrior. He assumed it was a human; the others were human, after all. But he had never seen a human this large before. His size only added to the forbidding armor he wore: matte-black carapace plating over a dark grey jumpsuit. The plates were large and bulky, but he hardly seemed bothered by their size or weight. Pockets around his belt, trousers, and blouse were filled to the brim with all sorts of items, only some of which Shepard recognized. Combined with his reflectionless, opaque-visored helmet, the entire suit gave the man an aura of inhumanness. Like facing a machine rather than a man. That might have been the point. His psychological impression spoke of fear and intimidation.

Not that it bothered Shepard. Certainly, this one was dangerous. But what bothered Shepard more was the lack of a hardsuit underneath his armor and their inability to communicate. The universal microtranslator chip was programmed to read and adjust to over two thousand known languages and sub-dialects in the Milky Way. Somehow, it had missed this one. The fact that they were human made it all the more strange. The microtranslator had enough of a limited intelligence to detect and derive outlier dialects. If it had descended from any human tongue, it should have translated. This didn't. He could have understood if they had stumbled upon a lost civilization, or even a new alien race. But these were humans, and this planet had been confirmed uninhabited. It didn't make sense.

Pondering the absurdity of their situation, he motioned for Miranda and Jacob to stand down. There was no threat here. The other man, who appeared rather young and uncomfortable with the present situation, had gone ahead and laid his rifle down. He stood still now, staring openly at them as if he had never seen another human before.

That rifle. Shepard was still trying to comprehend what he had seen. It had looked like a laser, or at least a beam weapon. It had not whined as it nicked past his head as a solid projectile would have. It had sizzled. Shepard had shot and been shot at by almost every known weapon in the galaxy. He had never heard a shot sizzle before. The realization unsettled him. No, it terrified him. Was this beam-weapon technology? He could not begin to understand where to start thinking about that.

Instead, he focused his mind on what had to be done next. Signal the _Normandy_. Request… what? Scratch the marine contingent. Send down Karen. Call for microtranslators? Why not. Couldn't hurt. He relayed the order to Joker, giving as little information as possible, and stressed the urgency. The pilot was brimming with questions, of course, but he knew better than to waste Shepard's time. If Shepard was calling for Karen to leave the _Normandy_ , the situation was beyond dire. And it was, Shepard thought as he turned back to the fallen woman on the ground.

Mother of God, what had done that to her? He had never seen a wound like that before. A memory flickered in the shadows of his mind: some old horror film from the 20th Century about corpses rising from the dead. The only thing he remembered was dreadful acting and the hero's weapon of choice, a chainsaw. This woman's wound could have been from the same thing. But that was absurd. Right?

He sent Jacob to gather the supplies, OSDs, and dogtags they had recovered and bring it back. Miranda stayed at his side, one hand on her hip, eyeing the strangers with a disapproving glare. Her anger was continuing to mount as unknown after unknown reared its face before her.

"Miranda, what are your thoughts?" Shepard spoke quietly, directing his head in her directions so the others knew he was speaking to. They did not appear too curious. The armored one had settled with standing still, switching his attention between the woman on the ground and their surroundings.

"Definitely human, but there are many unknowns." Her frustration made the words grind like shattered glass. "Woman on the ground, officer. Large one, perhaps her bodyguard? I am unsure what to make of this young one. Perhaps he is a regular soldier?"

"I meant can you understand them? Or are you getting anything useful off your omnitool?"

"It has been running passive scans." She shot him a withering stare. Lifting her arm, she activated her omnitool to check the results. At the sight of the orange light springing from her wrist the two men recoiled. The young one cried out and stumbled backwards. The faceless one drew a sidearm in the blink of Shepard's eyes and started speaking in fast, harsh tones. Miranda stared at him, her face losing all expression, adopting a mask of indifference that Shepard knew was hiding surprise. The man had moved like lightning, almost too fast for Shepard's eye to follow. Taking her hand away from the omnitool, she deactivated it.

"Okay, then" Shepard whistled under his breath. "So they don't like omnitools."

"I would be tempted to call them superstitious savages" Miranda grumbled, letting the other half of her statement go unspoken. Shepard knew what she referred to. These were clearly not untechnologic halfwits. But they did not appear to recognize basic galactic technology.

The faceless one holstered his weapon, helmet switching between Miranda and Shepard. His posture eased, relaxing now that the orange light had disappeared. He held Shepard's gaze, or at least Shepard assumed he did behind that visor. Words came out, but nothing he could understand.

"This is ridiculous, Shepard." Miranda huffed in irritation. She was not happy with the situation in the slightest. "What are we dealing with here?"

He did not answer. His radio pinged, a message from the _Normandy._ "Joker, the Kodiak inbound?"

" _Kodiak just launched. ETA five minutes. What's the deal with the microtranslators? EDI is picking up three extra life signs down there_."

"I'll tell you once I get this figured out," Shepard promised. "Just hold orbit for now"

"Roger that."

Shepard went quiet for a moment, trying to process everything. There were so many unknowns. Ignoring their weapons, which he did not even want to consider right now, he considered their armor. It seemed archaic at first glance: plate-based armor lacking vacuum seals. Their armor was similar, but at the same time vastly different from each other. The younger one's armor covered less of his body and was painted green, his jumpsuit khaki. Both soldiers, judging by the uniformity of their gear. And everything bore the same symbol, what looked like a two-headed eagle. It was everywhere, Shepard noted. On their helmets, breastplates, weapons, gloves, belts. That symbol was important.

As he looked Shepard saw that much of it and his clothes were stained with dried blood. A lot of blood. The larger man was in a similar state. It was as if they had just waded out of a pool of blood. But where had they come from? Where was this battle they had been fighting? And what sort of battle produced that much blood? The thought sickened him.

Their weapons continued to clutch at his attention. As with the men, their rifles appeared to be similar in concept but vastly different in production. Two of the rifles appeared nearly identical, save that one had a solid stock and the other a wire-stock. The wire-stock version had a slightly shorter barrel as well. Perhaps three inches shaved off the length. Rifle versus carbine. Who did that anymore? Mankind had not bothered with carbine variations since the late 21st Century. Once mass effect technology had bee discovered, carbines became unnecessary.

The third rifle though, the one slung on the faceless one's back, that stood out. It was larger, heavier, painted black as opposed to green, and had oil-dulled golden trim. Even at a glance, Shepard could appreciate the artistry in the hard edges and subtle lines. It was beautiful in its simplicity. But clearly a deadly weapon. The man's sidearm, from the brief glance he had seen of it, had the same detail and coloring. A matching set, perhaps.

The two soldiers, at least those he could identify with. But the woman, he had no idea what to make of her. She lacked the armor of the others, wearing little for protection besides a now-shattered breastplate of exquisite finery and matching vambraces and greaves. Apart from that, she might as well have stepped out of a historical documentary about the 19th Century. Everything she wore screamed ancient, from the heavy black coat with scarlet trim to the scarlet sash at her waist. Fallen beside her was a billed cap of deep black, decorated with a golden cord. Not battle-armor, this. What was she, an advisor? Some officer type?

The larger one had laid a few weapons beside her. A massive, masterpiece of a pistol, brimming with gold and silver trim, inlays, decorations, and even a name etched onto the grip. He could not read it, but he understood without needing to be told that the pistol had value. It must have been the woman's sidearm. The barrel alone made him wince. It looked more like a hand cannon than a pistol.

Beside the pistol though, now that was a sight. A long saber, with an ornate bronze basket hilt grip. That stopped him cold. She carried a sword. A sword! It looked exactly like any other ancient sword, except for a thin snake of wires trailing up its length. The wires led down to a blocky construction just over the hilt. So perhaps it was not an ordinary sword. But it was still a sword.

His confusion gave way to absolute horror at the last weapon. The memory of that awful horror film came flashing to the front of his mind. There it sat, the answer to the woman's wounds. A gigantic, full-length single-edged chainblade… installed onto a sword hilt. He could not think of anything to say, or think, or… the hell was he looking at?

The more he saw, the less he understood these strangers. Part of him wondered if he was still sleeping on the _Normandy_. Maybe this was all a bad dream.

Miranda sidled up beside him, her eyes drawn to the same weapon. Some of her anger had faded, replaced by her insatiable desire for knowledge. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Are you referring to the…" he pointed for lack of something to say.

"A chainsaw-sword." Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "This keeps getting better. You saw his rifle."

"-and I don't want to bother considering that yet." He silenced her with an upraised hand and a weak smile. The faceless man must have been watching them. Shepard turned away from them all and scanned the skies for the Kodiak. He thought he could hear it. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to find a quiet place so he could scream. His head ached from the multitude of thoughts jumbling about in his brain. What had happened to his solemn trip to the _SR-1's_ final resting place? This was most definitely not what he had expected when he had woken up this morning.

"Miranda, if we give them the microtranslator, how quickly would it take for their language to process?"

"Ordinarily, hours." Miranda shrugged. "But EDI can tap into the translator to apply her processing power. I would estimate that would reduce the language barrier. They should be able to understand us within a few minutes, however."

"Hm. Maybe Kelly could be a help. Her experience with xenocryptology should be of some aid."

"Perhaps" Miranda agreed, mouth pursed in a frown. "I would say that these people will require no little amount of study."

The Kodiak dropped from the sky much faster than it had when they first came down. Hawthorne was eager to get the doctor on the ground. Only marines could fully appreciate the urgency of a call for a medic. He brought the UT-47 down like a rock, levelling off at the last minute to give it a smooth, if hurried, landing. The men, Shepard noted, reacted as he suspected they might. The younger one paled and crouched for his weapon, not picking it up but keeping it close. The faceless one tracked it in, hand resting on the grip of his slung rifle. He did not draw it this time, an improvement to say the least, but he stiffened when the hatch's hydraulics began to hiss.

At the sight of Doctor Chakwas and Hawthorne, he actually relaxed. That caught Shepard by surprise. He had no idea what the man had expected. The sight of an armed marine seemed a pleasant alternative. He stepped out of the way as Karen Chakwas rushed out of the Kodiak, hardly paying the strange men a glance once she had zeroed in on the reason for her arrival. It took her moments to assess the wound and begin tending to it. The large one watched in silence, not interrupting or second-guessing her work.

"Got the microtranslators for you" Hawthorne said, handing Shepard three vacuum-sealed tubes and the injector. His gaze remained fixed on the larger of the two men. "Sweet Jesus, who's that?"

"His name's Kane, I think." Shepard accepted the injector and its contents. "There was an explosion, now they're here. And no, I don't have a clue." He caught Miranda's attention. "How do we go about offering this? You any good with charades?"

"Please, Shepard. They aren't children." Miranda snatched the injector out of his hand and loaded the first tube. She approached the larger one slowly, pointing to the injector, then to her mouth and ears. "You! This will let you understand me." She tapped the side of her neck. "Come on, now."

"Miranda" Shepard warned, watching the man's posture subtly tense up. She must have seen it too, but she was too intent on busting through the language barrier. His helmet twitched down toward her, he was probably the only man Shepard had met that stood taller than the Cerberus agent. Miranda stopped at arm's length, blowing out a frustrated breath. She repeated her demand, making a grand show of miming the ability to speak. When he did not respond, she reached for his helmet.

And then Miranda was on her knees, a broad-bladed knife held to her throat, her head pinned in place by the man's massive armored forearm. His speed once again astounded Shepard. The man struck like a snake, exploding into furious motion too quickly for the unaided eye to follow. One moment Miranda had stood in front of him, haughty and proud in her arrogance. The next her eyes were wide as saucers as his blade threatened to open her windpipe. He could read the confusion on her face. She was less worried about his knife than she was startled at how he had moved that quickly.

Before Shepard could decide whether or not to step in, the man released his hold on her. Grabbing her by the nape of her neck, he lifted her to her feet with one hand and pushed her away. Had the situation been less tense he might have laughed at the humiliation that seeped across her face. Miranda had made her origins no secret. She was as close to a superhuman as existed at the time. Her body had been genetically sculpted to be faster, stronger, more durable, than any other human alive. And this stranger had just trounced her out of hand like a school child.

"Easy" Shepard said, putting out a hand to calm her down before her rage made itself known. The larger man, he saw, had taken the injector from her. He held it before his visor, studying it carefully. His knife had disappeared, vanishing as if it had not existed in the first place.

"I am going to rip his f-" Miranda began, a snarl building in her throat. Shepard shook his head firmly.

"Your fault. You don't get to retaliate. Besides," Shepard pointed. The man said something to his companion, who trudged over with a perplexed grimace on his face. The larger one shoved the injector out to him. A sharp exchange passed between them, one that the smaller man lost, and he reluctantly took the injector and plunged it into his neck. Then the strangers turned to Shepard.

"What you just injected yourself with was a microtranslator" Shepard explained, knowing that it would take some time before the man's mind adjusted to the influx of subconscious knowledge. Still, he had to talk about something. Might as well do this. "It will adapt your brain to understand the galactic languages. Any moment now you should be understanding me. How about now?"

The man stared blankly. Shepard bit back a curse. Shepard repeated the question three more times, feeling slightly foolish as the man continued to stare. Then, on the fifth repetition, the man blinked in surprise and opened his mouth. Whatever it was he said, Shepard did not know. But it sure looked like the translator was working.

"Hold up three fingers."

The man did. Shepard allowed a small grin and continued. "That is device has injected you with a microscopic translation matrix. It will let you understand every recorded language in the galaxy. Can you please explain that to your…" Shepard pointed to the bigger, better armored man. "To him?"

The man spoke to his superior. The big man replied in a harsh tone, but he reached up and took his helmet off. Shepard braced himself as the man behind the mask was revealed. The face beneath matched his expectations. It was a strong, hardened face, with a harsh mouth, a powerful jaw, and brooding eyebrows. Glowing violet eyes, brighter than any he had seen before, reflected the soft light of the sun as he gazed from Shepard to the injector. Taking it calmly, he held it up to inspect and slid in the second tube. A disgusted look crossed his face, but he rammed it into his neck and pulled the trigger without a word.

Shepard gave him a few moments before speaking again. "I am Commander Shepard of the Systems Alliance. This is Miranda Lawson, my Executive Officer. The man who was with us earlier is Jacob Taylor, the ship armorer. And this is Doctor Karin Chakwas, our medical officer. We mean you no harm."

The men exchanged odd looks. The bigger one scowled deeply and pointed to the silver, double-headed eagle insignia on the breastplate over his heart. Shepard looked at it and frowned.

"I am sorry, but I do not recognize that. What does it stand for?"

Again, the men eyed each other. The big one knelt down and began sketching symbols in the dirt. As he did so he looked to Shepard. Some of it looked vaguely like a variant of Cyrillic, but the letters were different enough he could not quite understand it. Shepard shook his head.

"Sorry, but I can't read that. Doctor Chakwas, what is her status?"

"She will live, Shepard" the doctor replied. She looked up from the prone woman. "But we need to get her to the _Normandy's_ medical facilities. I have never seen a wound like this before. It is as if someone took a... I don't even know how to describe this sort of wound."

"Understood, Doc." Shepard gestured towards the men. "We need to move your companion up to our ship's medical facilities. You are of course welcome to come with us. Lord only knows how you got here in the first place."

The men nodded and walked over to stand protectively by her side. The small one picked up her weapons in addition to his own, leaving him overflowing in equipment. Shepard offered to help, but they made it clear they would not hand anything over. Understandable. While they collected their things, and Jacob returned with two loaded packs of equipment, Hawthorne fetched a stretcher from the Kodiak, and they eased the woman onto it.

The larger one kept his helmet off, choosing to leave it hanging from his belt. He hesitated beside the Kodiak, inspecting it like a butcher inspecting a cattle purchase. His mouth twisted in a sneer of disapproval, but once they loaded the woman on board he stepped in and took a seat. The Kodiak's seats had not been made for a man of his size. He sat uncomfortably, taking up his own seat and half of another, though his massive collection of weapons occupied the remains of the second seat. His gaze darted to and for about the hold, drinking it all in, perhaps searching for anything recognizable.

Shepard waited until everyone had boarded before taking his own place. He pounded the hull to give Hawthorne the go-ahead. The hatch descended, and he took one final look at the skeleton of the _SR-1_. It was a sobering sight. Now, as they left the _SR-1_ and journeyed to the _SR-2_ , he could not shake the thought in his mind.

Life as he knew it had forever changed. And there three strange men and women were only going to change it a whole lot more.

 **-v-**

The strange shuttle landed with a loud clanking. Though it was entirely unImperial and exotic, Kane had to admit that the ride was quite smooth. He had hardly noticed the atmospheric turbulence as they ascended from the snow planet to their ship in orbit. The lack of viewscreens meant he had nothing better to do that observe those around him, and he wasted no time in memorizing what he could of these strangers.

The leader, who called himself _Commander Shepard_ , had a lot on his mind. Kane recognized the man's far-off gaze for what it was. He may not have admitted it, but this Commander Shepard was as at a loss as Kane was. Neither knew what to do with the other. And if the rank Commander meant what he thought it meant, he had a lot on his plate to start with. Which begged the question, what was a commanding officer doing on his own with only a couple companions? Perhaps they had come down to inspect or search the ruins. But why not send down a full contingent of guardsmen and tech adepts? Had the wrecked ship some attachment to the man? Was there some special significance to it?

Whatever the case, this Commander did not appear to be the typical officer. He was heavily scarred, though the scars were well healed. Kane did not trust the soft glow emanating from underneath the man's scars. That wasn't natural. Something was off about the man. He had the build and posture of a soldier. Perhaps he had suffered some grievous injury in the past and had paid for high-quality augmetic replacements. There was little use pondering it. There were too many questions to dwell on any particular one, especially if he had no way of discovering the answer.

He shifted his attention instead to the doctor. This was a kind of woman he recognized well. Even her name sounded like a medicae's name. _Karen Chakwas_. Not threatening, somewhat reassuring. Older, weathered, not a fighter, but brimming with a stubbornness and dedication to her work that had saved countless lives. And lost countless more. There was a sadness in her eyes; it only showed when she gazed at the gaping wound in the commissar's chest. That was the look of a skilled medicae who knew she had a challenge on her hands. It did not matter if she could not communicate with them, or that she had no Imperial markings on her gear. She would do everything in her power to save the commissar, simply because that was what she did. She was a healer, not a warrior.

The other woman in the shuttle, the raven-haired bitch that had tried to take his helmet off, struck him as neither healer nor warrior. She was certainly capable. Even surprised, she had managed to deflect part of his pinning maneuver. Her reflexes were incredibly sharp, and he had felt the muscle in her body as she had struggled against him. Combined with her stance and confidence, and Kane knew she was a dangerous fighter. But that was not her primary trade. This _Miranda Lawson_ was an information gatherer. She identified threats, namely him, and held them in her sights while she accumulated the necessary intelligence to destroy them. That was why she had not ceased her vigil of him since laying eyes on him in the first place. Her hands remained perched delicately on her lap, posture all noble and rigid. The condescending glare on her face was drinking him in as much as he was her. Her returned her stare unabashed. She was quite beautiful, almost intoxicatingly so. Her icy blue eyes and full lips drew his gaze more than he wanted them to. She wore her sensuality like a weapon. They way she sat, the way her eyes held both unrelenting spite and affected disinterest… This woman did not need her sidearm to be a danger, and she well knew it.

The final man, the dark-skinned soldier, was about as straightforward to inspect as Kane could ask for. _Jacob Taylor_ , the Commander had named him. An armorer. That made the Kasrkin wonder, because this man lacked any Mechanicus clothing or blessings. He seemed distressingly human to be a keeper of weapons. His size was unimpressive, save for his bulging muscles that gave him a blocky shape across the chest and biceps. His gaze was open and honest. He showed his curiosity, but held his silence, choosing instead to study Kane and Brunson with the same intensity they studied his companions.

It was, without a doubt, the most uncomfortable shuttle ride Kane had ever taken. His eagerness to be rid of the shuttle almost overcame his trepidation at stepping onto what was undoubtedly a non-Imperial vessel.

And how exotic it was, he thought with a growing sense of dread. The shuttle bay was small and cramped, hardly large enough to hold a squadron of Leman Russ tanks. There was another shuttle of the same kind that they stepped out of, and a wheeled craft with a long-barreled turret on top. The rest of the bay was filled with crates, equipment, and all sorts of items that he did not know the purpose of. Was this a tiny private bay, reserved for the ship Commander or something?

Commander Shepard introduced him to the ship, called it the _SR-2 Normandy_. Whatever that meant. Kane followed along, keeping to the side of the stretcher as they hurried in the direction of the medical bay. At least, that was where the Commander said they were going. An overhead voice greeted them, projected by unseen vox devices, male and curious. Shepard told the voice to clear a path to medical, then refused to answer anything more. The only useful bit of information that Kane picked out was that the overhead voice called out for the crew to clear the way from _the shuttle bay_ to medical.

 _The_ Shuttle Bay. That was the only bay on the ship. How small was this ship if that was all they possessed? It couldn't be much larger than some of the larger bombers in the Imperial Navy. Was this a scouting vessel, then? Maybe a reconnaissance or research vessel? It lacked any Imperial or Mechanicus markings, reinforcing his fears that they were among heathens. His anxiety pressed at his consciousness, demanding answers that were not to be found.

The architecture of the ship was very clean. Painted white, with regular overhead light to keep the walkways illuminated. It lacked the Gothic flair of Imperial design, and held little to no iconographic display anywhere. Here and there were painted symbols, but they appeared more functional than ornamental. Signs and such, he assumed. It was all distressingly non-Imperial.

 _The Enemy is masterful in its deceptions. Only through faith can one pierce his illusions_.

The further he went into the ship, the more strangeness he encountered. Floating orange and green runes that controlled hatches and lifts. Motion activated light fixtures. Some of their technology appeared to be holographic interfaces? He had seen such before, but never on this scale. Most holographics were reserved for large war-tables or powered technological systems. Here they were everywhere.

He wondered what sort of human culture could have this technology? It was so different, so strange to him. What was this System Alliance the Commander had mentioned? Was it even a human Alliance? The Tau Empire, he had been told, loved to speak of 'alliance' and 'diplomacy.' They wooed the weak-minded with the idea of a _Greater Good_. While he had never read anything that specifically used the title 'Alliance,' he did not fool himself into thinking he knew every trick of the xenos, or every name or title they used. After all, a single thing could have many titles.

Kane fervently prayed these were not slaves of the Tau Empire.

They stepped into a lift, accompanied only by the Commander and the medicae. It was good the others did not come with. The lift barely held the two Cadians, the stretcher, and the two others. Kane stood in the back corner, one hand resting on the butt of his sidearm, the other drumming restlessly on the fallen lieutenant's chainsword hilt. The foreign Commander made a show of not eyeing him, but the tension in the lift was clear to all. Only the medicae appeared unbothered; her attention remained fixed on her patient, and she worried over the unconscious commissar like a mother over her sick child. One thing in their favor, Kane mused darkly.

"Sergeant?" Corporal Brunson did not make eye contact. He looked straight ahead, staring at the hatch. The Commander glanced over at them, but said nothing.

"Go ahead, trooper."

"What are we doing?"

"Getting the commissar to medical facilities."

"That's not what I meant." The man shivered, whether because he realized that he had just snarked a Kasrkin or because he had precious little grasp on his courage. Kane could sympathize. The man did not have a Kasrkin's training to steel his nerves.

"Do not concern yourself with our fate, Corporal. Whatever happens, make your Emperor proud."

The trooper remained silent, pondering his chastisement. That was good. Give him something to think about, something to take his mind off their predicament. In truth, Kane's mind was racing. His hands twitched from the effort of not cradling his hellgun at the ready. Every instinct told him to prepare for battle. They were surrounded by unknowns, and unknowns were hostile until proven otherwise. So far he had little to go with, other than the strange terms being thrown out by the Commander and his crew. _AI. Systems Alliance. Citadel Council._ He dreaded the answers he would be given. The more he listened, the more isolated they were. No mention of the Imperium, or of anything remotely familiar.

The elevator opened into a well-lit and smoothly polished hallway, stretching no far in either direction. Directly across from the entrance hung a tall plaque of what appeared to be polished obsidian. Long scrawling characters marked the board at regular intervals. He could guess the intent of the plaque easily enough. A requiem of the dead. Those crew who fell in the line of duty. A paltry number, less than twenty. Either this ship saw no real combat or they saw no combat at all. He had spent enough time on Imperial vessels to understand that a hundred times this number died every year, if not month when considering the slave ratings. And for a ship-of-the-line in a combat zone… a Naval Commander would wet his pants at a casualty rate this low. The plaque reinforced his belief that this was indeed some sort of scouting or research vessel. Were they among spies?

The medicae led them to the left, pushing the stretcher along with little effort. Though they had transferred the commissar onto a cart, it lacked wheels of any sort. Instead it appeared to hover just off the floor. Faint blueish light seeped out from the bottom of the cart. Antigrav technology? He was wary of that. Xenos used antigrav technology. Both the Eldar and the Tau were familiar with it, according to reports. And while it was not entirely unheard of within the Imperium, it was incredibly rare. To have access to even a single item of antigrav technology required uncountable wealth, power, and connections.

As they rounded the smooth corridor, Kane found himself entering an open space. To his left, a few rows of tables. Beyond that was a double row of lockers, a countertop, and a long passageway. To his direct front, a sealed room with open windows on the sides. It was open, indefensible.

And it was occupied. Several crewmembers sat at the tables or clustered around the countertop, grabbing food as if it was entirely normal to sit about and chat with the cooks. Singular cook, Kane noted in amazement. Was this a mess hall, or an officer's lounge? He saw nothing to signify rank among the different uniforms. There were few enough to make up a department's notable ranks, but these crew lacked the stiff upper-crust snobbery of Imperial officers. They were casual, appallingly casual in their manner. One sitting backwards on his chair, arms crossed over the backrest. Another with his head ducked between his hands as he attempted to sleep on the table. Two crew across from each other engaging in rather overt and entirely unsancionable flirtation.

All conversation ceased at his appearance. Crewmen trailed off mid-sentence, their attention stolen by the hulking Kasrkin's entrance. One dropped her platter in surprise. Eyes widened in fear. Several cursed loudly. Their reaction was understandable. Kane judged his size to be quite impressive; none of these crew could have stood reaching his shoulder. The only that stood roughly his size so far as he had seen were the Commander and the dark-haired officer. Even then, the size difference was noticeable. He was a giant among them.

Even if he wasn't, there was also the startling contrast of the painfully neat and clean ship interior versus his bloodsoaked armor. Kane returned their stares, matching each one until they glanced aside, unable to hold his gaze. But their stares followed him all the way into the medical bay. Frantic whispers chased after them. Kane did not bother attempting to hear. He had little to worry about the regular crew. They were faceless, mindless, just cogs in the great machine-wheels that ran the Imperium. It was a waste of time to even consider their thoughts.

It did trouble him that the crew had no sense of urgency. On an Imperial vessel, there was little time for the crew to roam freely about. Either they were at their duty stations or they were in their quarters. Sitting about like this was intolerable. Where was their sense of urgency? Did this vessel have such crew in abundance that they could sit about and idle the day away? The lackadaisical sitting about disgusted him. Surely such sloth would not have been tolerated in the Imperial Navy.

What in Throne's Grace was wrong with these people?

"The medical bay is just in here" Commander Shepard announced, striding ahead of the stretcher to activate a glowing rune beside the double doors. The door slid open, outwards instead of vertically. That was another thing he did not understand. On Imperial ships, the hatches slid upwards so that, in the event of power loss, they would slam down to seal off the room. Horizontal hatches were unsafe, inefficient.

That being said, they possessed an incredible medical bay. Incredibly small, but incredible nonetheless. Kane stopped just inside the hatch, drinking in the sight of a well-stocked, neatly cleaned, empty medical bay. The sight left him momentarily awed. never before in his life had he seen a facility like this. It was free of blood, the stink of ozone and antiseptics, and ghastly servitors to aid the medicae in their tasks. This medical bay had the appearance of being fresh off the naval yards; Everything was clean and orderly. A row of beds along each wall, with some advanced machinery he did not recognize in the back and desks in the front.

Oblivious to his surprise, the medicae and the Commander hurried the commissar to the nearest bed and lifted her onto it. Kane waited for the opportunity to step in and help. Casting about for a place to set his gear, he chose to dump it on the bed across and immediately set about working the straps of Junior Commissar Blake's armor. The stranger humans had some difficulty with her breastplate, there was no good way to remove it while she lay on the table. Kane pushed them aside, taking care to not use too much force, and slit the straps with his knife. Noting a thin silvery necklace band around her throat, he drew the chain out. Attached to the end of the chain was a golden, bloodstained icon of the aquila set on a silver pendant. A pulsing white light emanated from the back of the device.

Kane whispered a silent prayer of gratitude and carefully unclasped the chain to draw it off of the commissar. His hands trembled just slightly, shaking with reverent awe as he slipped the necklace into a pouch. A rosarius. That small, unassuming piece of archeotech engineering had most likely saved the commissar's life. It had not been enough to save her completely, but he had little doubt that the rosarius' power field was responsible for the commissar's presence. Had she not been so protected by a holy relic, the Traitor Astartes' blow would have split her in two like an egg.

" _Emperor lend His sacred healing_ " Kane prayed. He took a step back, allowing the medicae to move in with her tools, and contemplated his next move. He did not know what to do. This was above his pay grade, beyond any training he had received before. It had been sufficient before to rely on the orders of his superiors. Now he was the superior, and never in his life had he thought he would be in charge of something this… unknowable. There was no clear enemy, no objective.

His only real thought was that he needed to survive.

"Don't go anywhere" the medicae called out, not looking up from her patient. "Shepard, make sure these two do not leave the medical bay. They will need a full examination and decontamination when I finish here."

The Commander agreed, responding with an alacrity that could only indicate a great deal of trust in the medicae's opinion. Surprising. Kane knew that medicae were an irreplaceable part of the non-chain of command, and quite often trusted advisors, but she barked about at the Commander as if she had authority over him. And he obeyed without question.

"Care to take a seat" the Commander said, approaching him with a measure of caution. A nod to Corporal Brunson assured the man that they were to obey for now. Taking care to keep next to his gear, he indicated for the trooper to pile all of their equipment on the one bed.

"Our ship's AI should be able to patch in your language speech after enough of a sample" the Commander told them. He fetched a device from the nearby desk and pressed several buttons on it. An orange light erupted from the tip. When he had seen it on the surface of whatever Throne-forsaken planet they had found themselves on, he had assumed mischief. But this light was the same. Their technology, then. Not Warp. At least, he doubted it. He forced himself to sit still as the Commander ran the light over his body.

"Corporal Brunson."

"Sergeant?"

"You heard him. Start talking."

"About what?"

"Nothing important. No classified information, planetary information, troop movements, etcetera."

"So…?"

Kane just stared at the man. He waited a moment for the trooper's voice to trail off into an uncomfortable silence. Clearly, the man was too flustered to think on his feet. That meant it was Kane's job to talk. He hated talking.

"What's your role?"

"My role? Oh, of course." The corporal's face turned bright red. "I was, am, a Maintenance Officer. Non-combat role providing and assisting in basic upkeep of squadron vehicles, combat role as loader and active maintenance observer."

"Squadron role?"

"Gryphon Squadron Theta. Close Support. Got pulled straight out of Whiteshields for it. Been with it ever since."

"Unit?"

"Cubed Deuces" he said proudly, a bit of his embarrassment fading. "Uh, the 248th Cadian Interior Guard Artillery Regiment. Was on loan to the 94th. Not anymore."

"How long?"

"Three years since out of Whiteshields."

"Any combat before?"

The corporal shook his head. "Not before a few days ago."

"You did alright," Kane grunted. The trooper's eyes shone and he grinned as if the Kaskin had just promised to name his child after him. "Keeping talking, trooper."

He did. Latching onto that simple, offhand approval, he spoke about his advanced training within the mechanized division, of his home city in the southern steppes. Kane listened quietly, speaking from time to time, but his attention rested elsewhere. The ship's elderly medicae fussed over the unmoving commissar like a mother over a sick child, her face betraying no hint of her true thoughts as she clucked and prodded and applied medicines and Throne knew what else. Kane doubted there was anything she could do. The commissar's wounds were horrific, even by his own standards. Perhaps her life could be saved, but that would be a life crippled. That would make her a liability.

"... and that's when everything went to hell. This is the first time I've not been shooting or getting shot at since the landings. Throne! What do you think happened, Sergeant? Where are we?"

"Don't know." Kane kept his tone neutral, lest he convey any of his unease to the Commander. The man had stood by with little reaction throughout their conversation. If he could not understand them, he could still understand tone of voice. "Best to keep your thoughts on the here and now."

"But… Cadia?"

"We'll worry about that when we get there."

"Is… could we be lost in space?" The corporal persisted in his nervousness. "Or are we dead? This might be the afterlife, right?"

"If this was the afterlife" the Kasrkin grunted, "then the God-Emperor would be standing by to greet us."

"I'm sorry," the Commander said suddenly, his ears perking slightly as he leaned forward. "God...emperor?"

Kane stuck out a warning hand to stall the corporal's instinctive response. He analyzed the Commander's expression, filtering through the usual signs for deception, bluffing, or amusement. Nothing. He was genuinely clueless. A human who had not heard of the God-Emperor. That narrowed his list of possibilities to two: lost human colony from before the Age of Strife, or he needed a good kick to the face to wake up.

"The God-Emperor of mankind." Kane answered. "The supreme ruler of humanity, the one who led mankind to the stars and guides us all by his immutable power."

The medicae looked up from her patient and offered a puzzled look. So she could understand them now too. That thing the Commander referred to had worked. Whatever it was. Now they could speak like civilized beings.

"I'm sorry, it doesn't ring a bell." Commander Shepard shrugged.

"Fecking great" Kane muttered under his breath. He resisted the faint tinges of panic that tickled at his mind. He was beyond such petty fears. This was nothing compared to the terror of the Archenemy. Just a few unenlightened fools. This was survivable. "I doubt this will mean anything to you, then. I am Sergeant Leon Kane, 414th Kasrkin Company, 101st Cadian Infantry Regiment."

"So Kane was your name" the Commander repeated. He smiled slightly, perhaps glad to know he had picked out something. "Got to say, though, those names mean nothing to me."

"Imperium of Man? The civilization of millions of human worlds that stretches across the breadth of the galaxy?" Kane absently glanced about the medical bay. His eyes settled on a lit board over one of the desk. Flashing lights blinked at him. He could not read them, then a gentle pressure built in his skull behind his eyes. The symbols wavered, then shifted and became clear to him. _18:46 ET_. This translation device appeared to be quite efficient. It even allowed him to read their writing. Interesting. "What is the current date, Commander?"

"June 20th."

"That means nothing to me. Year."

"2185, Earth Standard. Why?"

Corporal Brunson swore loudly. Kane recoiled, his mind going numb for half a moment. Despite his finely honed control, he faced a surge of dread that made his palms sweat.

 **-v-**

"Why?" Commander Shepard gave them an odd look. He could understand them now, though they had heavy accents. Now that he could understand their speech, however, he had entered a whole new level of weird. Half the things they said made no sense. And they spat out these names as if they were something that he was supposed to know. "What year do you think it is?"

The two men remained silent, lost in their confusion. At last the larger one, Sergeant Kane, spoke. His voice was chilly, deliberate and methodical. He spoke with the forced calm of a man picking and weighing each word. "The year two thousand, one hundred eighty five. By your civilization's' existence?"

"The year Two One Eight Five since basic human civilization emerged," Shepard countered. "Granted, there are a few thousand years of recorded human history before the zero-point, but why is that a surprise to you? You're human. Shouldn't you know this?"

The man remained silent. The other one, who had yet to introduce himself, had the perplexed expression of a man who had just been smacked hard in the face for no apparent reason. Their confusion continued to bother Shepard. Where had they come from? What sort of memory loss were they suffering from, and where had they found this strange armor and weaponry? Was this lost Prothean technology, or perhaps the relics of an even older civilization?

"The third millennium" Kane breathed, his words coming out in a restrained sigh. "Mankind's infancy."

"What do you mean, _infancy_ " Shepard asked. These men were off their rocks. He considered for a moment calling Jacob and Miranda in, but decided against that. It would only escalate things. If these two were nuts, the last thing he wanted to do was bring in something that would exacerbate the situation.

"I mean," the scowling Kane replied, "that you have got to be joking. That can't be possible."

"Why not?" His curiosity bled through his suspicions. Crossing his arms over his chest, Shepard leaned back against Karen's desk and decided to listen. Perhaps he would get some clues out of what they told him.

"Because just a little while ago" the man began, pausing to take a dramatic breath, "no, let me try another question. What do you know of the Ruinous Powers?"

 _They must be tripping,_ Shepard thought to himself. The way the man said those words sounded reverent, in an appalled, barely-can-spit-them-out sort of way. Again, it meant nothing to him. "Not ringing a bell."

His admission brought a another question, this time about something called ' _the warp_.' Then another about ' _chaos_.' With each answer, his own questions multiplied, and the man's face grew more and more grim. Finally, the man's companion let out a terrified whimper.

"Where the hell did we end up, Sergeant?"

End up. Shepard thought back to the anomalous energy explosion on the planet's surface. Of course, something odd had brought them to the planet. The idea struck him as utterly ridiculous, like something out of a terrible twentieth century B-movie science flick. Time travelers? Was that really a thing?

"You should probably just start from the beginning" Shepard told them. He pointed at Kane. "Just tell me where you are from, and we'll get this sorted out."

"Cadia" the man replied, not missing a beat.

"That your planet?"

"Homeworld, yes."

"What year did _you_ think it is?"

"Forty-first millennium, the year forty thousand, six hundred thirty two."

And now it was Shepard's turn to be speechless. He looked from one to the other, searching for any hint of deceit. Karen Chakwas sighed loudly behind him. Her boots clacked away from the bed and towards the cabinet that held the sedatives. Kane followed her progress, jaw tightening as he categorized her progress.

"You said… say that again?"

"M41.632."

"You're lying. Or you're insane."

" _Insanity is the Fool who knows the truth yet seeks to deny it_ " the man shot back. He pointed at Shepard's armor. "That is no Imperial-made armor. Your ship is not Imperial. You have no reason to lie. Not like this. And neither do we. If what you say is true, then our story would be pure insanity. If I were lying I would have a much better story than this."

The man's certainty alarmed Shepard. Kane spoke with that same measured calm as earlier, with the determined precision of a man who put a good deal of thought into his words. A crazy man would be babbling. spitting out words faster than he could piece together a coherent lie. Shepard sensed the gravity in the man's speech. The absurdity of his claims could not have been faked.

"You say you came from the future. How?"

"Unclear." Kane shot his companion a sidelong glance, then indicated the woman on the table. "Our units were battling the forces of the Archenemy on Cadia, holding the line against a raving horde. After repelling the foe, they brought up a Titan war machine. It fired on our position with a weapon that creates rifts in reality."

He stated it all matter-of-factly, with the same dispassionate monotone that a vid-reporter would list the daily fluctuations in the Citadel Stock Market. Shepard tried to push past the questions that sprang immediately to mind. _Titan war machine? A weapon that tears reality? Archenemy?_ What sort of future had they come from? It sounded more like an apocalypse.

"Okay. Let's go with that for now." He subtly motioned for Doctor Chakwas to stand down. Setting down the injector, she casually ejected the sedative and returned it to its container. The big man's eyes flickered in her direction, noting but saying nothing. "Is Cadia mankind's homeworld?"

"Cadia?" He snorted. "Hardly. Cadia is originally a xenos world, or so the records claim. The Imperium cleansed the planet and repurposed it to serve as a fortress world against the Eye of Terror. No, Shepard. Our homeworld is Holy Terra."

"Terra… we call it Earth."

The man's lip curled slightly as he digested the word. His expression reminded Shepard of a Krogan whose quads had just been cut off.

" **If I may** ," EDI cut in, drawing a startled look from both men. They glanced about, seeking to pinpoint the source of her voice. " **The native tongue of these men is like nothing I have seen before. It appears to contain faint traces of thirty four current human languages, adjusted for the possibility of millennia of natural evolution and adaption. In addition, I detect no trace of dishonesty in Sergeant Kane's heartbeat or brain waves. I am continuing to run linguistic diagnostics to identify control variables in their speech patterns** _."_

"Thank you, EDI." Shepard considered the revelation. If EDI could entertain the possibility, then as insane as it sounded, the men might be telling the truth. Before he could reach a conclusion, the AI continued.

" **Passive scans also reveal numerous unidentified alloys and mineral compounds in their equipment. Their armor is composed of a super-dense, lightweight material I have no comparative matches to. Furthermore, their weapons exude energy signatures that are unknown to current technological research. With respect, Commander, I believe these men might be speaking the truth.** "

"Are you advising me that time travel is real, EDI?"

" **I am merely presenting you with my initial discoveries, Commander. If these men would submit to more intensive scans, I can provide a more detailed analysis.** "

"What is that voice" Kane demanded, his discomfort showing.

"EDI is the ship's artificial intelligence."

"Artificial Intelligence?" The other one shivered. Shooting the larger man a nervous glance, he gripped his weapon tighter. "They've got a-"

"I know what that is" Kane interrupted, silencing him with a glare. "Commander, I feel it wise to warn you that this is going to be a long debriefing, for both parties. You say we are in the third millennium. That means everything we know is gone, changed. I am willing to accept this as truth, but I need assurances. The time we come from, there are foes that can manipulate the mind as easily as a child pulls the wings off of flies."

"That's… yes, I can do that." He could, that was true. He just did not know where to start. Never in his life did he think he would be part of a first-contact. And he could never have imagined it would be with humans. "We have a conference room I can take you to, start getting you up to date there."

"I would rather not leave our Commissar behind" Kane informed him. "Not until I know that she will be safe."

"Safe?" Karen approached the man, an indignant frown scarring her features. "That poor woman has an ugly wound the length of her torso, not to mention she is suffering from critical blood loss. And now I am hearing that you aren't from our time, which means that our blood will be incompatible to aid her because your antibodies will be entirely different. So I have to rely on only medigel to not only repair her body but to refill it as well. If we wished any harm on her, the only thing we could do is speed her on her journey. But I am a medical officer, and I don't know what doctors are like where you come from, but here we honor life and swear to do our utmost to preserve it."

Kane gazed down at her, his expression unreadable for several seconds. After a painfully long silence, he nodded curtly and looked over at Shepard. "That's familiar, at least. Looks like medics are medics no matter when you are."

It was almost enough to make Shepard grin. He let out a long breath as Kane gestured for Karen to return to her work. The man's cold violet eyes seemed to grow less tense, if only for a moment. He studied their comrade's still body again, then pushed off from the table.

"I trust this doctor of yours. Lead the way, Commander."

"Not so fast" Doctor Chakwas called out, rummaging about in one of her cabinet drawers. "I am not letting you two set foot outside this lab until I ensure that you two aren't carrying some exotic future disease that will kill off the crew. We have a decontamination chamber just through that door, as well as immunization boosters and antibody supplements." She cast a formidable glare at the two men. The younger one flinched. "When that is done, then you can leave this lab."

"All too familiar" Kane muttered under his breath. He sighed quietly and began reaching for the clasps on his armor. "You heard the medicae, trooper. Armor off. Standard drill, just like with the Navy."

"Never did get off Cadia before" Brunson said, but he complied without arguing. It took them a minute, Kane a little longer due to his more complex armor; when they had stripped down to their fatigues, Karen allowed for a small smile of approval.

"We are going to need to decontaminate all of your belongings. Especially those filthy, blood-stained uniforms of yours. Lord only knows what that stain is" she said, pointing to no particular blood-smear. "Right, one of you at a time. Decontamination chamber. Strip it all off when you are inside, and don't you dare think about trying to skip out before it is completed. EDI, if they don't drop trou I wanted you to reduce the water temperature to freezing. Understood?"

" **Understood, Doctor Chakwas**." Shepard was sure the AI's voice contained a hint of glee at the idea.

Kane surprised them by stripping straight out of his clothes, not bothered in the slightest by the presence of others or the open windows that looked out into the communal dining hall. Shepard averted his gaze, not out of embarrassment. It was a rare person who had not encountered the concept of a communal shower before. Being around naked people was hardly new to him. Military 101, right there. That being said, Kane was an uber-prime specimen of a man. His muscles were bound tighter than steel to his frame, giving him a lean, utterly fierce figure that did not contain an ounce of visible body fat. There were scars and old wounds aplenty on his body, not to mention evidence of lash marks across his back. His massive frame added to the overall persona, reminding Shepard of the Biblical story of David and Goliath.

And he was wounded too. A nasty purple bruising covered his right side, swelling the flesh around his ribs and shoulder. It must have been causing him intense pain to move his arm, but he endured it stoically. There were other, fresher and less prominent wounds tracked around his arms and stomach but they were nothing compared to broken ribs.

A polite cough from the doctor drew his attention. She too had turned away, one eyebrow raised in a surprised fashion. A hint of a bemused smile played at her lips, and she did not turn back when he asked for clarification of which door to enter. Instead she waved in the correct direction, Kane folded his clothing neatly in a pile then carried it all into the indicated chamber without a word.

"He is certainly a… healthy specimen" she said, smoothing her voice and rounding on Brunson. "Your turn next."

This one followed Kane's example, but with less grace and more self-awareness. He collected his uniform and held it protectively over himself. Certainly a soldier, this one, but more along the lines of what Shepard expected to see in the average Alliance Marine. Muscular with an awkward tan line, in good shape but not excessively so. Compared to Kane, he looked startlingly ordinary.

"I may as well give you the inoculation while we wait" Karen told him. She held up the syringe for the man to see. His eyes widened slightly, confirming another similarity between their times. No one liked shots.

 **-v-**

The ship's medicae cleared them almost an hour later. The decontamination went smoothly enough. He found the process incredibly simple and noninvasive. Just a heat wash of water and chemicals that burned his skin just enough to know that it was cleaning him. The pain on his bruised side was excruciating, but he had suffered through worse than broken ribs. As long as they were not completely shattered, he would endure.

After exiting the shower he was subjected to a trio of injections that the medicae assured him were designed to strengthen his immune system and vaccinate him against the majority of viruses and diseases known to man. If that claim was true, it was an unheard of feat of medical engineering. It also meant that he was going to be clobbered for the next few days as his body adjusted. Having suffered through numerous pre-drop immunizations before, he was fully aware of the effect that the injections would have on his system. He was going to be weak. Weak was vulnerable.

The shots themselves left him with an unpleasant tingling sensation. The doctor insisted on inspecting his injured side, taking care to examine the massive sprawl of swollen skin. After giving it a go, she announced that the best thing for him was to come back and get a full MRI scan, whatever that was, followed by a batch of medigel delivered intravenously to his chest area. Her confidence reassured him that she knew what she was talking about, because she threw around terms he did not recognize and had no knowledge of the current technologies.

The decontamination process had also cleaned his clothing so thoroughly there were no traces of blood stains anywhere, even old faded ones that had clung to his fatigues after numerous campaigns. A few rents and tears remained, requiring a quick patch to maintain, but that was all. He made a mental note to request needle and thread.

Once that had all been completed, the medicae allowed them to leave. Kane did not leave eagerly; as much as he trusted the medicae's honesty he did not like the idea of leaving the Commissar alone. She was his responsibility now.

When he went to pick up his weapons and gear, the Commander offered them a mobile gurney to set it all on. He assured Kane that no one would relieve them of their weapons. Kane held back from retorting that no one would be able to take them without his permission. While he had yet to see armed crewmen on board, he had no doubt that there must be a sizable armsman contingent here. If they were an exploratory vessel, they had to know the risks of pirate raids and xenos attacks. Perhaps the arsmen remained sequestered away from the rest of the crew.

Kane set their gear on the gurney and pushed it out of the medical bay, noting how smoothly the wheels rolled on the deck. He had never pushed a wheeled anything before that did not squeak or wobble or groan. Commander Shepard guided them back to the elevator. By this time a fair gaggle of crewmen had assembled in the mess hall. Kane resisted the urge to reach for his weapons. None were armed, none showed any sign of hostility. They were all curious. Curious was strange. He was not used to people being so open. On an Imperial vessel, if you did not recognize something you did your best to avoid it. Going out and seeking unknowns often resulted in punishment. Or death. But these crew stood about and whispered amongst themselves as if they had nothing better to do. Did the ship have multiple crews that cycled shifts?

The fact that the Commander did not order them away told Kane he had nothing to fear, and that the man either held extreme confidence in his crew or he was incredibly stupid. Probably the former. None followed them around the corner, though the instant they cleared the crew's view Kane heard the whispers explode into hushed questions and comments. Shepard shot them both an apologetic look as he pressed the button to summon the elevator.

"They're curious, is all. Got to admit, you two stand out."

"Shouldn't they be busy running the ship?"

"We're on downtime while the ground recovery teams are planetside."

"Ah." Kane nodded, though the man's words meant nothing to him. The strange diamond-like symbol on the Commander's sleeve, the same one he had seen repeated over and over on the ship, caught his eye. "That the symbol of your _Alliance_?"

"This?" Shepard grimaced and idly plucked at the symbol. "No, this is something else. I'll explain it all upstairs."

The elevator took them further up the ship, and they exited to what must have been the ship's bridge. It was strange to allow direct access like this. Dangerous as hell in a boarding action. Shaped roughly in a long wedge, there were cogitators along the walls as well as along a thin rail that penned in a circular pedestal bedecked with lights and unfamiliar technological circuitry. Beyond the strange pedestal lay a narrow passage, this too bordered by cogitators on each side. A raised stand loomed directly ahead of them, reaching forward to give a central view of the entire bridge. The commander's position, he assumed. Odd that there was no visible interface equipment to plug him into the ship's systems. No captain's throne. For that matter, there were no servitors either. The crew appeared entirely human, merely a dozen present in the entirety of the bridge. The majority of consoles were dormant or unattended, and a few of them seemed to be operating on their own accord. It was the strangest sight he had even seen. So quiet and empty.

"Commander Shepard." A petite woman with fiery orange hair stepped forward. She faltered on seeing Kane and Brunson, but recovered after a moment and saluted. "You have a new message on your terminal. Admiral Anderson heard about our visit and wanted to speak with you."

"Thank you, Kelly." Shepard returned her salute. "Sergeant Kane, Corporal Brunson, this is Yeoman Kelly Chambers. She's my eyes and ears on the _Normandy_."

"A pleasure to meet you gentlemen," she said, a warm smile spreading across her face. She had a very pleasing smile. Genuine and welcoming. She held out her hand. Corporal Brunson shook her hand carefully. Kane opted not to.

"Friendliest Commissariat I've ever seen" Kane muttered. The woman's smile froze for a heartbeat, puzzlement creeping into her face.

"I don't follow" she said.

"Kelly is my aide" Shepard clarified. "She keeps me up to date on communications, crew morale, and pressing concerns."

"My apologies for the confusion." Kane took her hand and shook it firmly. Her grip was confident, if dainty. A very friendly handshake. He had yet to meet a friendly face that had entirely honest intentions.

"Word's spread that you found people on the surface," she told Shepard. "I heard one is in the medical bay?"

"One is in critical condition." Shepard's grim confirmation caused concern to spill into the corners of her smile. "Karen has requested that everyone give the medical bay a wide berth until she can stabilize her."

"Oh! I'm sorry." She looked over at Kane and Brunson. "If there is anything we can do, please let me know."

"Actually, I'd like it if you could accompany us." Shepard motioned for her to follow. "I'm about to debrief them. Your presence could be helpful."

"Certainly." She beamed at the Commander, eager to help. Shepard led them around the corner, through a short passage that opened into a very clean and ordered room that might have served as their Mechanicus quarters. Technical machines lined the bulkheads, and an examination table filled the middle of the room. It appeared that the table sections stood on tracks, able to move about for configuration. Interesting. Kane did not see any cog symbols or anything similar. Must have been before the arrival of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

Taking them beyond the chamber, Shepard led them into a functional conference room that conformed to every expectation Kane had. A long table in the center, flanked by rows of chairs, with one chair at the head and a central device on the table that might have been a projector. Some things never changed, he thought to himself. Leaving the gurney against the wall, he sat down in the center-right and noted how Shepard sat opposite him, not at the head. Yeoman Kelly Chambers took her seat beside Shepard, A questioning arch in her brows.

"First things first." Shepard lifted his hand. That same orange glow erupted from his wrist, displaying a series of symbols that Kane could now tell were indeed not warp energy. Some sort of technological device then. He dallied about, pressing at symbols that responded to his touch even though they could not have been physical. After a few seconds of this the device on the table glowed, and a large three dimensional picture of the galaxy leapt out over their heads. Corporal Brunson cursed in surprise, kicking his seat back in his amazement. Kane was not so impressed. He had seen something similar before, one time when his Kasrkin unit was being briefed by some Inquisitor whose name he had already forgotten. Holographic imaging. Rare, but not unheard of.

"Can you find your homeworld off this?"

"Perhaps." Kane stood and examined the galaxy. Its orientation was wrong, he realized. It was possible that some galactic shifts had occurred in near forty millennia, but he also realized he was looking at more or less the same galactic map. But there was much more on the map than he had ever seen before. "Is this the only image you have?"

"You can zoom in," Shepard assured him. He demonstrated by placing his hands inside the picture and pulling them apart. The selected area magnified, exploding dramatically and pushing out the rest of the galaxy until they were looking at a single cluster of systems. Then, reversing the motion, he returned the map to its original size.

"Ah." Kane attempted the maneuver twice before getting a handle for it. When he felt confident in his ability to manipulate the map, he began examining this new galaxy until he found the appropriate location. It took some time. He had studied a vague map of the galaxy in the Schola, but the level of detail here was entirely different. Here he could count the stars, more or less, and there was a certainty in the placement of systems that made him wonder if they had discovered a way to physically map the entire galaxy. This seemed a far cry from antiquated astronomical guesswork of the Mechanicus.

Once he pinpointed the location of Terra, it took him mere moments to find Cadia. Any Guardsman that had been deployed offworld had a general idea of his homeworld's position in reference to Terra. After figuring that out…

"Here it is" he said, zooming in to a system that looked nothing the Cadian System now. For one, there was no Eye of Terror. It was all quite different, with more planets than he remembered. There was also a moon orbiting Cadia that had not been there in his time. A single word hovered over the planet. _Palaven._ "This is Cadia."

" _Cadia?_ " Yeoman Chambers shot the Commander a disbelieving stare. "Shepard, he just sai-"

"We call it Palaven" Shepard interrupted, lifting a finger to silence her. He gave her a look that Kane knew well. _Trust me_. "You are sure that's where you came from?"

"I know my homeworld" Kane snapped. He sat back down and crossed his arms over his chest, eye twitching as he held in a sharp intake of breath. Right, broken ribs. "I can understand that the name has changed, of course. Thirty nine thousand years, more or less, and change is to be expected. But that is our homeworld, sure as I'm sitting here."

"Shepard?"

"It'll make sense in a minute" Shepard assured the woman. His expression carried the hopeful grimace that he wanted to believe it actually would. Kane braced himself for whatever bomb they were about to drop. Judging by the Yeoman's disbelief, he was about to hear something he would not like. "Sergeant Kane, this planet you refer to. You should know that there is no current human presence on the planet. Not colony-wise, that is."

"Understandable. Cadia was not colonized by the Imperium until the thirty-second millenium."

"And before that?"

"Shepard!" Yeoman Chambers hands were clasped so tightly her knuckles whitened.

"Easy, Yeoman."

"There are records of a lost human civilization, perhaps from the Dark Age of Technology. Before that, I am unaware of any previous inhabitants. Our records are sparse, and to be frank I am not interested in pursuing that path. Questions lead to doubt, and doubt leads to heresy."

"Sounds a little extreme, Sergeant." Shepard smiled uneasily, clearly unsure of how to take Kane's statement. Kane filed that away, wondering how much they knew of Chaos and moral threats. He remembered Schola lectures that theorized about the relative quiet of daemonic presence in the galaxy until the days of the Great Schism.

"You've never seen a world descend into madness, families murdering each other with their bare hands and teeth, devouring their loved ones in cannibalistic rages in obscene veneration to their foul gods."

"Um… Shepard? What the hell are they talking about?" The Yeoman could not contain herself. She rose out of her seat, planting her hands on the table, and fixed them all with a demanding stare. "Who are they? And what is this craziness about Palaven? What are they talking about?"

"We're from the future" Kane told her, not missing a beat. He ignored her shocked face and continued speaking to Shepard. "That's another story for another time. What were you saying about Cadia? You call it Palaven, a proper name, which means _someone_ lives on it."

"Palaven is the turian homeworld."

"And what is a turian?" Corporal Brunson voiced his wonder with properly guarded interest. If it wasn't human, it was xenos. Kane was well aware that Cadia had non-humans origins. The Pylons were evidence enough of that. He wondered what sort of xenos they were that could have built such devices.

"This is a turian." Shepard hit more buttons on the hard orange light, and the map disappeared. In its place rose a hideous humanoid monstrosity, a creature avian-resemblance with claws, scales, and a gruesome mandibled mouth. A predator creature, wearing armor in a similar style to what the Commander wore. Kane glanced over it, drinking in the sight, immediately searching for visible weaknesses. Limbs were long and thin, easily breakable. Avian influence could factor into brittle, lightweight bones. Razor-sharp teeth, covered by mandibles but not quite capable of fully closing, or so it appeared. Head set in front of neck, as opposed to above it. Otherwise, it lacked visible weakness. An evolved creature, developed as a hunter. A xenos hunter. Perhaps it had some relation to the Tau-subservient race known as the Kroot.

"That's one ugly xenos." Brunson sighed. "And you said Cadia is infested with those monsters?"

" _Palaven_ is their homeworld." Shepard nodded. "And we do not see them as monsters. Turians are one of our allies."

"Allied with xenos?" Kane held in the urge to spit. The very thought filled him with disgust. "What in Throne's grace brought that about?"

"Our first encounter with other life forms was with the turians" Shepard explained. "While the first contact was hostile, we quickly established a peace and entered into the wider galactic community. The turians are the galaxy's strongest peacekeeping force. Without their support, Citadel Space would be near defenseless."

"You ally yourselves with xenos" Kane repeated. "That is madness."

"I don't know what your time was like." Shepard glowered at them both. "But in this age we strive hard to work alongside the galactic community."

"You make it sound like mankind is subservient to them."

"We are equals. Humanity has only been on the galactic scene for a hundred years, not even that. And yet we already have one of the four seats on the Citadel Council, have prosperous colonization efforts, and are rapidly becoming one of the most powerful financial and military races in Citadel Space, not to mention all known space."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this." Kane growled in the back of his throat.

"Do we have a problem, Sergeant?"

"I have a problem that I've found myself in a time where mankind is willing to roll over and please a bunch of damned xeno-"

"Shut up!" Kelly's voice boomed across the room, surprising everyone present with its intensity. She trembled like a leaf, eyes wider than saucers as she stared at Kane. Her horrified scowl showed how frayed her nerves were. "Everyone, just shut up for one second. Shepard, what the hell is he saying? They're from the future? _Our Future_? Someone fill me in, and start from the beginning!"

Kane regarded her coolly, taking care to watch the Commander's reaction out of the corner of his eye. Shepard did not seem cowed by her outburst, but he did appear to be using her interruption to collect his thoughts. The two men exchanged a pregnant look.

"Let me begin with a more formal introduction" Kane said, indicating for her to take her seat. She did so quickly, the redness draining from her cheeks. She produced what appeared to be a datapad out of a pocket, and held a stylus ready to write.

"My name is Leon Kane. I am a Troop Sergeant of the 414th Kasrkin Company, attached to Scarus Sector Command; currently I am liaisoned to the 675th Cadian Regiment, 9th Company Whiteshield Training Company. This is Corporal Brunson of the 248th Siege Company, Cadian Interior Guard. The woman in the medical bay is Junior Commissar Arietta Blake, advisory attachment to the 94th Cadian Shock Troop Regiment. Our three units were stationed on Cadia when an Archenemy fleet came out of the Eye of Terror and established a beachhead on our homeworld. In battle on the frontlines our position was assaulted by a Titan war machine, which fired on our position with a weapon that appears to have ripped us from our time and deposited us here, in yours.

"Together we serve in the Imperial Guard, the Hammer of the Emperor. The Imperial Guard is the military of mankind, the force that battles heretics, mutants, xenos and the Ruinous Powers on a million battlefields on a million worlds. We carry the light of the Emperor across the breadth of the galaxy, purifying the foe in holy fire and scouring the unclean from our space. We guard mankind against the incursions of vile darkness and insidious xenos, we claim worlds for the good of the Imperium, and we hold our ground against the ravenous tides of mankind's uncountable enemies.

"Our homeworld Cadia, which you call Palaven, is the primary incursion zone of an area in space known as the Eye of Terror. This is a great rift in reality where the space between our reality and the Immaterium is so thin that daemonic forces are easily able to enter the galaxy. As such we are constantly at war, continuously fighting to throw them back into the hell from where they came. This is where we were fighting, battling desperately to halt the tide of the Archenemy while our commanders assembled a counterpush to slaughter them in their landing zones."

The Yeoman listened silently, writing notes. Her eyes remained wide, her shock clear on her face, but she listened well. This was a woman who know how to digest copious amounts of information and partition it away for later study. When she finished her notes she looked up and then to the ceiling.

"EDI, what is your opinion."

" **I have already relayed my discoveries to Commander Shepard in the medical bay. Time travel is currently undiscovered, but scans of their equipment supports the possibility of advanced technologies far beyond the current scope of Citadel technologies. I have also been unable to discover any traces of mass effect technology, or other Prothean-related designs in their equipment.** "

"That thing is starting to annoy me" Kane grunted. "Listen, ma'am. It is a hard story to swallow. Your own story is even harder. Where we come from, the only thing man does with xenos is shoot them. The only life we know is one of war."

"That sounds horrible."

"Perhaps. But such is the way the galaxy has been for thousands of years. Ever since mankind expanded beyond Terra, we have always been at war."

"Constant war," she said, clearly unnerved by the thought. "I can't imagine that. The asari, and the turians too?"

"I am not familiar with those names."

Shepard tapped again, and a second figure appeared beside the turian. This one was even more human-like, but with sleek blue skin and a head that ended in disgusting tentacles cropped tight around the skull where hair would have been. Kane's hackles rose at the sight. It reminded him of a daemonette he had killed once.

"This is an asari. They are the longest-lived race in the galaxy, very powerful. Masters of art and war in equal measure."

"They look like daemons."

Shepard's mouth quirked in a frown. Yeoman Kelly grimaced, unsure how to take his comment. "I assure you, they are quite friendly. The asari are the most welcoming race of the Council. It was the asari that helped end the First Contact War and brought us into the galactic community."

" _Never trust in the goodness of the xenos, for despite any appearances there is none to be found._ " Kane whispered the comforting words under his breath. He could tell that these humans were firmly entrenched in the idea that xenos were to be trusted. That made them fools, weak-willed, and dangerous.

"You said you were in the Imperial Guard." Commander Shepard pointed to the aquila on Kane's sleeve. "Is that your unit emblem?"

"The aquila is the emblem of mankind" Kane replied, glad to change the topic of discussion. More talk about xenos could come later. For now, he wished to speak of something more familiar and less unsettling. "It can be found everywhere that true citizens of the Imperium can be found."

"And the Imperium is the main human empire?"

"It is the only true human empire" Brunson retorted. He hesitated after that, looking to Kane for permission to continue. The Kasrkin nodded. "The Imperium is centered at Holy Terra, and controls mankind across a million worlds. Every man and woman in the galaxy is by right a citizen of the Imperium, though many have lost their way."

"A million worlds?" Shepard whistled. "Sounds like a bit of a stretch. We've barely colonized forty."

"We used to own more." Kane shrugged, dismissing the man's incredulity. "Records claim that before the Age of Strife mankind had claimed upwards of ten million planetary bodies for colonization. Most of those have been lost, destroyed, or infested by xenos since."

"You're kidding, right?" Yeoman Chambers set her datapad down. "What kind of navy do you need to patrol all that?"

"I don't know the numbers of the Imperial Navy. The grand total of Imperial Guard forces, not counting Planetary Defense Forces, militias, etcetera, is estimated upwards of one hundred trillion."

"One hundred…" Commander Shepard swore. "That can't be possible."

"It is. The numbers are not so great when you realize they are spread across the Navy, in transit, fighting on worlds, being raised on homewords, undergoing training, and so on and so forth. That number may sound beyond your ken, but I wish we had ten times that."

"What sort of battles do you fight that need that many bodies?"

"Large ones." Kane looked him straight in the eye. "The kinds where twenty thousand men die on a good day."

"That's insane" the Yeoman breathed. "The Alliance barely has a million soldiers in its ranks."

"Cadia exports millions of Guardsmen every year" Kane said, taking a small amount of pride in their furthered confusion. "Our tithe to the Imperium. Cadian soldiers are the finest in the galaxy."

"I hope you understand that everything you just said would rate you a comfy room in an insane asylum."

Kane chose not to reply. He studied the two alien races, again searching for weaknesses. These asari had no visible ones, other than the fact they appeared very similar to mankind. Potentially had the same strengths and weaknesses, physically. "It is strange you have not mentioned the Eldar or Orks."

"Orcs?" Yeoman Chambers smiled weakly. "You're kidding, right?"

"I don't joke about any xenos, especially not Orks. Judging by your amusement, you have not encountered them yet. Strange." Kane stood and went to the gurney. The two crewmembers of the _Normandy_ watched curiously as he fished out his own datapad. Corporal Brunson had recovered Lieutenant Arnold's as well. Sometime he would have to inspect it to see what information it held. Returning to his seat, he fiddled with the datapad and summoned a pict of an Ork. "Here."

Both the Commander and the Yeoman leaned forward to examine the pict. They both grimaced at the sight.

"That's huge. And ugly." Shepard shook his head. "We have Orcs in our lore, mythology and fantasy stories, but nothing like that."

"Interesting. And Eldar?" Kane searched for an appropriate picture. He found one, a grainy helmet-pict from a Kasrkin raid against an Eldar feral world. Again, the two showed no indication of recognition. "That is odd. Both races predate mankind, and were prevalent galactic powers at the infancy of man."

"Never seen or heard of them" Shepard admitted.

"That is troubling." He slid the datapad into his pocket. "That aside, what can you tell us of the current state of man?"

"What do you know of the third millenium?"

"Nothing."

"Really? You don't have records?"

"Much of mankind's history has been lost." Kane leaned back in his seat. "We call it the Age of Strife. Warp storms engulfed the galaxy, cutting off worlds and plunging every corner of the galaxy into chaos. A great deal of technology and record was lost. From what we do know, mankind was sent back to the stone age, so to speak. We lost the ability to travel among the stars, and had to rebuild from the ground up."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It happened twenty thousand years ago." He paused, then corrected himself. "Or rather, it _will_ happen in seventeen thousand."

"Ah. So you know nothing about our time?"

"No."

"Well, then," Shepard motioned for Yeoman Chambers to join in. "We'll give you the highlights…"


	3. Welcome Aboard

**A/N: Next Installment arrived.**

 **Reviewers:  
kukuhimanpr- It is actually going to be fairly 40k-lite, trying to not bring in too much over because, let's face it. If Warhammer 40k came to the Mass Effect galaxy in any significant mass, ME would get wiped. That being said, I have the explanation for the other races, but currently have absolutely 0 ideas on how to make it fit in the story. Might just Author's Note it at some point.  
dekuton- Exactly. That is the nice thing about Warp-jumping. Everything's made up and points don't matter. :D  
SalemTheSpeakerOfTruth- True, and... bwahaha (maybe)  
Disciple of Ember- Yeah, I think was being weird that week. Half this story is basically going to be one party saying "the fuck?" to the other party, and vice versa. Gonna be lots of laughs, and a few tears.  
dghornick- Well, you can be sure he will approve of Palaven's defenses if/when he ever visits them. Not Cadian-level, but the Turians have a pretty solid defense set up there. See below for the lasgun discussion. :D  
Guest- The document jumped from Microsoft Word at one point to plain rtf, to Google Docs, and once you hit over 15k words it tends to lag and get wonky. I try to clean it up as best I can.  
Guest 2- Yeah... Inquisitors. Definitely never showing up here. Nope. Never. But yes, Commissar I thought would be fun. Honestly, I got that idea from the older fic Hammerhand. they have Miranda become a commissar, sort of. Fantastic pre-ME3 fic, btw.  
SomeGuyOverHere- Kasrkin. He's a Kasrkin. I refuse to acknowledge that retarded name and those retarded models. Stormtroopers went from being hardcore mofos to being these prissy little douchenuggets when they redid that line. hah. rant done. I am definitely trying to keep this from being a "new people, cool!" fic. There's going to be lots of friction, but not to the point it is laborious. Hopefully.  
reader51947141- You like numbers, don't you? Thank you for the compliment.  
DrakeTheTraveller- That is very kind of you. I try hard.  
AngryOstrich- don't worry, this one has about 400k words already written in it. I am just taking my time editing everything before I post. TWiF is currently my main focus, but I will keep letting this one out in as regular doses as I can manage.**

* * *

After a long and painful briefing, Shepard updated the two men on the state of the galaxy they had found themselves in. It was not a pleasant talk. Both men balked at the idea of working alongside xenos, and seemed more than ready to argue their belief that all xenos wanted was the destruction of man. Kelly's aid proved indispensable. She recovered quickly from her initial shock, returning to her practiced role as the psychiatrist, always asking questions and defusing temperamental reactions before they could get ugly. By the time they finished, all parties were exhausted. Shepard had Kelly find them a spare room on Deck 3 to get some rest. They took their gear with them, of course. Shepard noted the protective way they clung to their equipment. If it came to it, disarming them would be a bitch of a task.

Once the _Cadians_ left, he summoned his team to debrief them. Miranda and Jacob both bounced with questions, but they held their silence while Shepard had EDI give audio playback of both the discussion in the medical bay and in the conference room. EDI skipped through the uninteresting bits, fast-forwarding to the most pertinent details. Just enough to get the point across, for now. Further investigation could come later. He knew Miranda would listen through it all in detail later.

The fact that they held in their knee-jerk reactions was a testament to their professionalism. Poor Kelly Chambers was still digesting everything she had heard. She sat at the corner of the table, listening to it all again and scribbling furiously on her datapad. After thirteen pages, Shepard had stopped counting how many she had finished. While Jacob and Miranda had listened, Shepard snuck a glance at Kelly's notes. Intricate, detailed, precise. The Illusive Man had chosen her well.

When EDI finished the playback, the room fell utterly silent. Their faces showed the general flow of their thoughts. Disbelief, incredulity, amusement, sullen acceptance. All vying for control. Miranda's scowl remained fixed firmly on her face. She stood behind her chair, leaning one hip against the back, hands drumming restlessly on her arms as she pondered the news. Her dissatisfaction with the situation needed no explanation. Yet she held her tongue, contemplating, considering possibilities.

Shepard had no idea where to even start. They had seen it firsthand. It was not as if they were entirely unaware of the incident. But to hear all of this information, it was like a punch to the gut. For him, hearing it the second time made it even less clear to him. Things were supposed to make more sense with repetition. Here, he just felt more confused. Like his already uncertain world was crumbling around his feet. The cold claws of doubt lingered around the corner of his consciousness. He wondered if this was what his father had felt like, during First Contact. Like his universe had just exploded, and somehow it was up to him to make it all right.

In the end, it was Jacob who spoke first.

"If I hadn't seen that shot that nearly took your head off, I wouldn't believe a word of that," he pointed vaguely up at the audio projectors on the ceiling. "The weapons they carry, they aren't anything like I have seen before. Call me crazy, but I think that was a laser rifle. Actual laser technology. I mean, that's like science fiction."

"I have met many kinds of madmen in my time" Miranda placed her elbows on the back of her chair and leaned into it, interlacing her fingers. "These meet all the requirements. They have wild tales, maintain full confidence in their imaginations, carry themselves with righteous fervor. We should not be allowing them out without a team of guards."

"You don't believe them?"

"I did not say that." Her reply sounded half-defensive, half-dismissive. "Their weapons and equipment speak in their favor, as EDI agrees. It is a hard concept to grasp, certainly not something I find favorable to consider. Temporal displacement is impossible to imagine at the current level of technology, but a few hundred years ago we thought aliens did not exist and mass effect transportation was not even on the theoretical table. It goes without saying of course that, if true, this will bring a great deal of complication. They have a rather simplistic view of the natural order."

"You're referring to their apparent hatred of aliens and how any reference to aliens is like pulling teeth?" Kelly arched an eyebrow from behind her notepad.

"I do. His xenophobia is impressive."

"Says the Cerberus agent," Shepard muttered. He bit his tongue a breath later, a pang of guilt slashing through his mind. He did not regret the sentiment; his reservations had been put out there for the entire crew. They all knew what he thought of the organization. It had been part of his first address to the crew, along with an invitation to leave if they didn't like it. In an organization founded on secrecy and lies, he refused to maintain the status quo. Of course, the Illusive Man had known he would do something of the kind. There were no "purebred" Cerberus agents on the _Normandy_. Except Miranda, maybe Every crew member had some tie to Shepard, even if it was one-sided. Former Alliance, survivors of the Skyllian Blitz. Everyone here believed in him or did a good job pretending to. It was the perfect setup. He had no reason to not trust these people. Which meant he had every reason to distrust them.

And he could not deny the slight tingle of glee it gave him to watch the momentary flush of irritation spook across Miranda's face. Miranda did not have the purely humanistic ideology that Cerberus espoused. Even though her allegiance was true enough, she had never claimed human dominance at the expense of the other races. Humans first, but not aliens last. There was just enough humanity in her to find offense at the jab. That was good. His instincts had been solidifying about her rather quickly. For all of her aloofness and arrogance, Shepard was sure that she could be trusted. In the battles to come, he would need that.

"Their eyes are peculiar too," Miranda continued, brushing aside his comment. "Violet eyes, did you notice that? They all have them. Far too bright to be natural, but they lack any sort of cybernetic signatures. Palaven does have significant radioactive contamination compared to Earth-standard. It is possible that a human colony on Palaven could, over multiple generations, develop mild mutations like this."

"So you think they are mutants?" Jacob shook his head. "This keeps getting weirder."

"It is not so simple to label, but… yes. I am not talking about the kind of mutations you read about in comics or see in the movies." Miranda shot Shepard a meaningful glower. "Lifelong spacers tend to have lighter bones due to artificial gravity. It is theoretically possible that a specific exposure to consistent mutagenic agents could cause an evolutionary change like this. Besides, violet eyes is hardly a step towards _homo superior_."

"EDI, can you bring up the scans?" Shepard collected their attention. "And transfer the files to our datapads."

" **Affirmative, Commander Shepard. Bringing them up now.** "

Life-size images sprang to life from the projectors. The flickered and swirled together in a riotous ball of light-data before spilling out to align themselves in the order EDI considered the most efficient. The three bodies occupied the center of the holographs, surrounded by scans of their armor, all spinning slowly in the three-dimensional field for full viewing. On the furthest edges of the table stood the collection of weapons that accompanied the newcomers. Technical readouts hovered along every inch of the projections, noting everything from color pigmentation to chemical residues. The speed at which EDI could process still astounded Shepard.

The swords drew everyone's attention first. For soldiers with laser technology, or at least something similar, the presence of such archaic weapons left him confused. He hardly doubted the effectiveness of such weapons, the chained blade in particular had a gruesome savageness to it. But how could they possibly still find any use for such things? He knew some krogan still carried hammers and the like, but those were berserkers who forwent ranged combat in favor of close quarters combat. And berserkers were near impossible to take down. These were humans. They weren't that hard to kill.

Miranda strode to the edge of the table and pointed to the figure of Sergeant Kane. Specifically, she pulled her fingers apart to zoom the image on the thick shoulder plate. A silvery highlight roped around the symbol of a double-headed eagle, set in the same location where a unit emblem would have belonged. Kane had called that the aquila. It had significant meaning to them. And it was everywhere. On their armor, their weapons, their kit.

"EDI," Miranda was one of the few crew members who had adjusted to addressing EDI without needing some sort of focal point to feel comfortable. "Run extranet searches for this symbol, see if you can identify historical references, whether they are political, social, militaristic. And not just human history either."

"You think there could be alien influence?" Shepard's incredulity bled through. "After all that talk about 'abhorring the xenos'?"

"And possibility, no matter how remote, is a potential until proven otherwise. I do not expect anything, but that does not mean I would dismiss the possibility out of hand." She smirked, ever so slightly. "After all, if they are mad, lying would not be out of the question. And this would be where they might have slipped in their fabrication."

" **I have found no similar symbology matching current galactic events, dating back five hundred years, Officer Lawson. There are no references to such a symbol in the histories of any of the Council races, and the only human records date back to the foundation of the Roman Empire, the Cult of Caesar. The aquila is a prominent icon of the time period, a popular symbol of victory and authority for Roman Emperors and descendants of the fractured Empire stretching for several hundred years afterwards."**

"So they're the ancient Romans, but from the future?" Jacob snorted. "Alright, Shepard. I am officially lost."

"I believe it is safe to assume that the origin of the symbol is not tied to Julius Caesar," Miranda interrupted, ever focused on the task at hand. "It features prominently on all of their belongings, like a stamp. Perhaps it is a fascist state, and the symbol is there to remind them that they belong to something greater than themselves."

"They did say they worship a man ascended to godhood…" Kelly looked each in the eye before returning to her notes. "Just saying."

"I don't have near enough caffeine in me to start dealing with that idea." Shepard grimaced. "I am more concerned with the implication that these men are religious fanatics, not pure soldiers. Those two," he indicated the two men, "are clearly of two different calibers. Kane, he's elite."

"Besides the obvious," there Kelly was again, asking the question with pen ready for the more experienced answer, "what makes you say that?"

"You don't get that big doing regular soldier stuff." Jacob stole the answer out of Shepard's mouth. "I mean, look at me. I'm in the gym every day and I'm not even close to that man's build. He's built like a brick, made out of titanium. And nerves as cool as I've ever seen. He just got catapulted through time, probably straight out of a battlefield, with a wounded comrade, and he's still talking straight. I'd bet a year's salary he's some special operations commando-type. N7-style."

"I wouldn't bet against you" Shepard agreed.

He motioned for Miranda to continue. She had leaned in closer to inspect EDI's scans. Alongside the symbol, two data readouts flowed, one in binary and the other in English: EDI's passive scans of the materials in his armor. Shepard recognized some of it; more he recognized as saying UNIDENTIFIED SUBSTANCE.

"Their armor is reminiscent of pre-spaceflight combative plate armor. It is not vacuum-sealed, but it is made of an extremely dense material, not metallic, but more durable. While it is not the most comprehensive of suits, leaving less vital areas unprotected, it does not constrict their mobility. According to what I am seeing here, it is possible that their armor would be capable of withstanding medium arms fire. I have little doubt it is stronger than our own combat suits. Thicker too, of course. This is obviously designed for ground combat, not for combat in a potential vacuum, or in hazardous environments. But what draws my attention more is this…" She drew her hand along the data, scrolling it upwards until she found the point she desired. "It does not appear that this armor is designed to be primarily resistant to physical fire. These substances seem more intent on energy dissipation, heat absorption. See this here? Their kinetic capabilities are impressive, but I am more interested with this. Not only does it speak in agreement to the thought that their weapons are true energy technology, or heat-based at the least, but I can see numerous potential exploitations to be derived from them, both in armor and industrial capacities."

"It might be a little early to start counting the chickens" Jacob noted. "All I've got to say is that the big one, Sergeant Kane? He's one tough-looking mother. The other one is our size, normal. But that Sergeant is a giant. And the meat he's carrying in his muscles… I could see him wrestling a krogan and coming out on top. I wouldn't want to get on his bad side, that's for sure."

"And there is no possibility that he's some secret super-soldier program, right?" Shepard gave Miranda a questioning look. She shook her head. "Just wanted to check."

"Cerberus does have a division researching combat enhancement genetherapy and cybernetics, but nothing on this scale and nothing near completed."

The armorer shot her a surprised look; it was evident he had not been aware of such things. Which made sense that the Illusive Man would keep such projects confidential. Genetherapy was heavily sanctioned and monitored by the Citadel Council. There were few companies with the allowance to pursue it, and those were all for medicinal purposes only. Anything that Cerberus had would be deep underground. So deep that only a handful of people could be aware of it.

"So we agree with his story?"

"We do." Miranda sighed. "I cannot think of another possibility. We all saw the energy burst that they came out of. No living creature could have survived that blast. Which means they arrived directly after it. I had EDI forward Doctor Chakwas' medical scans to me. Their physiology is human, of course, but contains evolutionary markers that we have never seen before. In addition they are also carrying bacteria and dormant viruses that are not recognized."

"Which brings us to the important question, what do we do with them? This is a revolutionary event, not just in scientific terms, but in military as well. Time travel, laser weaponry, advanced metallurgy... and that's not even counting whatever knowledge and culture they possess."

"We are not equipped to handle this" Miranda said, her voice filled with conviction. "I would advise we drop these three off at a research facility and have the scientists look them over."

"I am not giving a scientific miracle to a bunch of terrorists" Shepard snapped. Jacob flinched. Not all of Cerberus were true bad guys, Shepard had to remind himself again. Men like Jacob were one of the only reasons Shepard had agreed to the Illusive Man's offer. Jacob knew what was important, and where to draw the line. It was a pity the same could not be said for all of Cerberus. "Sorry, that was harsh. But the point remains. There is no way in hell I'm handing them over to Cerberus. The Alliance, maybe. But not an organization with a history of terrorists activities and a cloak-and-dagger modus operandi."

The two Cerberus agents nodded respectfully, acknowledging his point. That Miranda did not give a biting retort reinforced Shepard's belief that she was not Cerberus-first, humanity-second. There was some good in her, buried beneath the attitude and the Cerberus ties. Then again, it would also be hard to remain the Illusive Man's spy on board if she alienated herself from Shepard.

"We don't have the luxury of taking time off of our own mission to study them." Miranda pressed. "The Collectors are our immediate concern, followed by the Reapers themselves. We cannot afford to waste time trying to figure this out on our own. If you would prefer to hand them off to the Alliance, then by all means, do so. I'll make the call myself. As long as we are not sidetracked by this. There is too much at stake."

Jacob had a pensive frown on his face. Both Shepard and Miranda watched as he stood up and approached one of the other images. He tapped one of the rifles. There were three rifles in total, each different from the others. Two appeared nearly identical, save one had a collapsible wire stock and a slightly shorter barrel. Both were blocky, sturdy, and easy to analyze. Trigger, fire selector, magazine slot, bayonet lug. Jacob trailed a finger over the lug, his thoughts hidden behind a veil of silence. Bayonets had not seen use by humanity in hundreds of years. Some of the more savage races, namely krogan, vorcha, and batarians, still used them. The more Shepard thought about the hulking Sergeant Kane, the clearer the image of him fighting a krogan with his bare hands became.

Then he stepped past the two and stood directly in front of the third weapon. Sergeant Kane had carried this one. While it shared similarities to the first two, it was clearly made to a higher standard. The body of the weapon was heftier, reinforced and lined with thin vent slits. From butt to tip, it was the size of a standard issue grenade launcher, with a wide barrel, a broad magazine slot. A deadly weapon, to be sure. But that was only half the charm of it. The rifle had an elegant construction, with beautiful symbols and script etched in brass along its length. The stock was molded smooth as ice, with subtle imperfections that could only be evidence of a personally-tailored buttstock. There was a quality to the craftsmanship that would have made an asari weaponsmith jealous. It was functional, but it looked damn good at the same time.

"They're soldiers" Jacob said aloud, his tone leaving it unsure whether he was asking a question or making a statement. "He said so himself: he fights to protect mankind from threats."

"From _alien_ threats."

"Not just that. He said other things too." Jacob shook his head. "Look, it's just an idea that slipped in my head. Maybe it is a stupid one. But that Sergeant Kane does not look like the kind of man to go in peacefully if we try to hand him over as a lab rat. He's a fighting man. And sure, he may be dangerous as all hell combined if things get nasty with him. But what if we can get him on our side?"

Shepard cocked his head to one side. He had an idea of where Jacob was going with this. It wasn't the craziest idea. "Go ahead."

"People cling to what is familiar when faced with the unfamiliar." Jacob stepped back from the weapon and looked over to Shepard. "He's a soldier. Soldiers fight. What if we gave him something to fight?"

"You want to recruit them onto the mission?" Miranda's disbelief cracked through her measured calm. "Jacob, that's insane."

"As I said, probably a stupid idea." Jacob shrugged and sat back down.

"No..." Shepard studied the rifles. He could imagine the advantage those could bring to the field of battle. Pure energy weapons. Kinetic barriers wouldn't stand a chance. There would be a whole host of complications, of course. For one, they'd have to convince the newcomers that they were on the same side, and that the fight was worth stepping up to. The next, most glaring option, was that Kane and Brunson were complete unknowns. Shepard could not count on their training, their philosophies, their tactics. He didn't even known where to begin. But if they could... "Jacob, hold onto that idea."

"Shepard, you can't be serious!"

"I don't know." He admitted it freely. "Miranda, we've got three people that just appeared out of an explosion, Terminator-style. They're big, mean, and have God-only-knows what kind of firepower and training. We're on a suicide mission, correct? I can't imagine that we'd be looking to turn down help anywhere we can find it."

"The Illusive Man did not app..." she cut short midstream, realizing the absurdity of her words even as they left her mouth. That was a first. She had never misspoke before. Clearly, rattled. "Shepard, I see the point. I really do. Extra bodies, extra firepower. But we don't know the first thing about them. We don't know what they can do, how they fight, how they think. They are too much of a liability."

"More of a liability than some psychotic biotic who's locked away in a space-portable prison?" Shepard eyed her meaningfully. "Seems like we're bring on a whole lot of liabilities onto this mission."

She did not respond. Shepard put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, thinking. "EDI, what are they doing right now?"

" **Sergeant Kane and Corporal Brunson are in a state of meditative petition. They are speaking synchronized litanies that I can only assume are prewritten prayers to their deity.** "

"They're praying?"

" **It appears so. Shall I summon them?** "

"No. Leave them be." Shepard looked from one Cerberus agent to the other. He took in a long breath, holding it while he thought of what to say next. "As Jacob said, it's an idea. Not necessarily a good one, not necessarily a bad one. We're heading to Omega next, that course is already charted. Worst comes to worst, we can deliver them to the Alliance after. If not, we might have just added two new soldiers to our team."

"Three, possibly, if the woman survives." Kelly had pulled out her datapad. "Karen just sent an update. Vitals are stabilized. She is confident the woman will pull through. It will take a good deal of time, though."

"Perhaps that is something we can use to our advantage." Miranda eyed their weapons again, slowly flicking her gaze from one to the next. "It is not wise to let them keep their weaponry, but I can see the trouble we would have in disarming them. As long as the woman is in medical bay, we can use her as leverage. A bargaining chip to ensure their good behavior."

"You want me to hold the woman hostage?"

"I want the Normandy's crew to be safe." She indicated the horrific sword with the chain-blade. "No civilized person would ever use a weapon like that. I wouldn't call them barbarians, but I would say they must be a savage people. We should be ready for the worst case scenario."

"Hope for the best, prepare for the worst" Jacob muttered. He nodded along.

"We'll consider all possibilities before we decide anything." Shepard stood up and stretched. "It's been a long day and I'm running on fumes. Get some shuteye. Tomorrow morning we will talk to them, test the waters. EDI, make sure to let me know if they attempt to leave their room. I don't want to lock them in, but I don't want them wandering around freely either."

"Affirmative, Shepard."

 _ **-v-**_

Jacob entered the medical bay slowly, checking first to see if Doctor Chakwas was in. The elderly former-Alliance medical officer had already proven to be an anchor to the ship's crew. She had nerves of steel, a steady hand, and a motherly intuition for knowing how and when to speak to people. He had learned early on to trust her completely. There wasn't a more honest soul on the Normandy SR-2. Not even Shepard could match her straight-forward nature.

"Doc?"

"Jacob." Doctor Chakwas had rolled a chair over beside the primary surgery bed, the one now occupied by the blood-drenched woman from the explosion. Less bloodsoaked now, after a thorough scrubbing and careful emergency surgery. A reddened smock and pair of gloves lay on the edge of the wastebin, not quite thrown out. Judging by her relaxed posture, the set of her shoulders, and the mug of coffee in her hand, things were going well. "Do come in. I am just taking a breather. She took quite a blow, this one."

"So I saw. Pretty sure I know what kind of weapon did it, too." Jacob strode over but stopped a respectful distance away from the bed. He knew that Doctor Chakwas did not approve of crowding the medical beds, as he also knew that this one had not gone through the decontamination procedure yet. Not fully, at least. Glancing over the heavy application of bandages and medigel, he grimaced. "Looks like someone went at her with a real chainsaw."

"A real chainsaw would have done less damage." The doctor sighed and took a long swig from her cup. "It's not like in the movies, you know. Chainsaws don't go straight through things like they are made of jello. It takes a good deal of force to put a chainsaw through anything as strong as bone. Not to mention the armor she was wearing, and all the flesh gumming up the teeth." Offering a dismissive wave to the woman's clothing piled in the far corner, Chakwas sipped at her mug. "EDI informed me that her… shirt… is made of durable material similar to kevlar, but much stronger. I would wager a blade would have a hard time piercing that without incredible amounts of force."

"You speak like you have experience." Jacob turned to regard the clothes. He still marveled at the uniforms these people wore.

"I've cut a few trees down before." She waved her hand dismissively. "It is easier to use a drone or a cutting tool, but sometimes the visceral feel of dominating nature is too enticing. But that is neither here nor there. The weapon that did this to the poor woman is a monstrosity."

"I agree with you there." He gestured to the other chair. The doctor indicated for him to go ahead and seat himself. "So how're they looking?"

"Apart from a gratuitous amount of bruises, cuts, bullet wounds, and so on? They came straight out of a battle. The large one looks like he was hit by a car. And their blood is carrying dozens of substances that I could only guess at. I am fairly certain I have already identified one potential supervirus floating inside her. Their immune systems make ours look like we've never set foot in the outdoors. The medical discoveries that could be derived from their blood, if the appropriate team of medical professionals had a crack at it, are quite exciting."

"You've had time to look into their blood work?"

"Hers, at least." Doctor Chakwas pointed to her small lab-kit with the mug, thrusting it like a fencer at her mortal foe. "Sergeant Kane was kind enough to bleed on the bed too, so I swabbed it and am running it now. I should have a comprehensive scan completed by the end of the hour. It is taking longer than usual, but their DNA is much richer than ours."

"Hm. What's your prognosis on them?"

"Medically?" She shrugged. "This one will live. It will be some time before she can walk, but she's a tough one."

"What's your impression of them?"

"Ah. The younger one, the corporal, wasn't it? He's more terrified than an Alliance private getting deployed into the Krogan DMZ. But the other one, he's a killer. I don't like him very much. He reeks of death."

"You mean the blood?"

"No, I mean... death." The doctor grimaced and sipped at her drink. "There's something wrong with that man. I can't place it, and I don't think he's a danger to the crew. But I don't trust him. He carries himself more like a machine than a man. And there is this feeling that I had when he was in the lab. Like his very presence muted the lighting."

"Huh." Jacob rose and shook her hand. "Thanks for the talk."

"Was there something you needed?" She eyed him accusingly. "I know you did not come by merely to speak about these people's blood work. What are you up to, Jacob?"

"Shepard's trying to figure out what to do with them." Jacob eased his chair back into the desk. "But he's wiped after going down to Alchera and all that's happened the past few days. I just thought I'd lend a hand, do some legwork. You were here with them, so you've had the chance to glean something that maybe we missed."

"That is very thoughtful of you."

"Isn't much else to do right now."

"I appreciate that you are looking out for Shepard." The doctor raised her mug in salute. "You're a good man, Jacob. Shepard is lucky to have you aboard."

"Thank you, Doc. He's luckier to have you."

"Flatterer" she murmured, draining the coffee in one final swig.

Jacob exited the lab, leaving her to her work. Karen rose from her chair, set her mug down on her desk, and turned back to the woman on the bed. "You're a lucky woman, you know that? A million places you could have ended up, and you appeared at my figurative doorstep. If that isn't a sign that you are meant to live, I don't know what is."

She approached the table and activated her omnitool. "Medical Log Thirteen, _Normandy SR-2_ , June 20th, 2185. Subject has stabilized after emergency surgery. Vital signs deteriorated but holding in coma-like state. Subject appears to be hovering on the brink of sub-consciousness: mental faculties show signs of detection and translation, yet lacking definitive response. I have engaged active and passive monitoring devices to alert me if any changes appear in condition."

Leaning over the body, she spent a moment observing the woman's breathing. She was a beautiful creature, with a patrician face that had no doubt set hearts fluttering and stomachs churning among young men all around her. Yet here she was, nearly cut in two by a terrible weapon the likes of which Karen had never seen before. What sort of time had they come from? The _Normandy's_ doctor was not sure if she wanted the answer to that.

"Blood work and skeletal structure indicate subject is in her late teens, no more than early twenties. Physical indicators confirm she is well into puberty stage, yet still undergoing minor end-changes. Conclusion that subject is in early-stage adulthood." Karen let out a heavy sigh. "Christ, she's just a child."

She played back the log and deleted that last line.

"Callouses on hands and feet indicate heavy usage, cross-reference with claim that subject is a soldier in the… what was it… _Imperial Guard_. I will speak with Commander Shepard tomorrow about removing subject to intensive care facility for dedicated recovery. No further updates at this time. End Log."

 _ **-v-**_

The world was not supposed to be so white. Even as his eyes crept open, spilling from the dreamless sleep into reality, he knew it was wrong. The darkness in the room did not hide the white surfaces accented by gold and black. Unfamiliar colors surrounded him, and unfamiliar symbols disturbed him. His sidearm appeared in his hand in an instant, sweeping the room even as he rolled off the mattress and planted his feet on the floor.

For a long second he thought his hearing had not returned, that something had deafened him. There was no noise, no bass thrumming of the ship's engines, no clanking of pipes or drilling air recyclers. Only when he stopped to count his breathing did he confirm that his senses functioned. Quiet, steady breaths seemed to echo in the near-noiseless chamber. The previous day's events began to trickle into his mind, accompanied by the startling realization that this ship ran in near silence. The idea seemed so wrong to him, so unnatural. The Imperial ships he had traveled on always roared and sang, their powerful engines and creaking bones reminding all aboard that disaster was mere moments away at any time. This ship did not.

Corporal Brunson had not woken yet. His tanned face lay half-buried in a pillow that actually provided comfort. The room had a pair of bunk beds, and judging by the lack of other accessories in the room, it had not been occupied before their arrival. Ever, or for some time. He did not know. The ship smelled new. It was something he could not objectively place, but the clean paint, well-kept machinery, and general ambivalence of the crew all argued that this _Normandy_ had not been out of the docks for long. Perhaps they had shipped off under-staffed.

A chest-high dresser stood by each bed, unadorned and strikingly white. Their three rifles rested between the dresser and the bed, pistols lay neatly on top. The lieutenant's chainsword occupied the top of the other dresser, on Brunson's side, while the Junior Commissar's power sword hung in its scabbard next to Kane's head. Everything remained where they had left it. Ever their armor, spread out on the room's table for later inspection and repair. Their room remained secure.

Confident that no one would barge in ready to kill them, Kane approached the door and searched for a light control. A simple panel next to the door had two small lights centered near the bottom. He touched it with one finger and noted with surprise that the lights followed his touch, and the lights of the room responded accordingly. He flicked his finger to the top of the panel, and the clean lights in the ceiling burst to life, bathing them in refreshingly pure brightness. A soft humming rose behind strategically positioned grates as well, and he immediately felt a cool breeze drift through. The air here did not taste stale and recycled. Not as recycled as he remembered, at least.

If it were not for the four beds, he might have mistaken this room for officer quarters. Affording four mere crewmen quarters his lavish spoke of special indulgence and borderline decadence. Though there remained little in way of entertainment in the room, he could not help but wonder what sort of budget this ship had acquired to waste such valuable space for a commons table and a countertop in the rear of the room.

Content, but not satisfied, with the situation, Kane went to take stock of their inventory. He had done it four times the night before, but his mind had been swimming from post-battle adrenaline, and this new time had him near-reeling with information overload. Besides, he was Kasrkin. The first priority of any operation: Proper gear maintenance.

So he cleaned his weapons. His Cadian-pattern MkIV Hellgun took minutes, even with the extra cleaning needed after having suffered through the blood and mud of trench fighting. Tht weapon had come apart so many times under his fingers that it hardly registered anymore. The same could be said of his sidearm, the Cadian MkXIX Hellpistol. At record time, he could strip and rebuild the pistol in thirty seconds. He spent five minutes on it here, ensuring that every facet of it remained in optimal condition. Throne only knew how soon he would need it.

The Kantreals, Corporal Brunson's M36 lasgun and the Junior Commissar's acquired MG "Short" carbine, both had suffered wear that he simply could not fix with a quick cleaning. Dented buttstocks, a crumpled corner on the magazine catch for the M36 where a bullet had ricocheted. Those were jobs for a techpriest. Not something he could fix without several hours and proper tools. Moving on to the MG "Defender," he cleaned out the barrel and checked the butt, encouraged to see that no damage had been incurred when the Corporal had caved in a frothing three-armed cultists face with it. Of course, Cadian weapons were made to withstand tremendous kinetic impacts. They were almost as sturdy as the men who wielded them.

The final two pieces took the longest time. The Junior Commissar's Garm-pattern bolt pistol had seen far too much action since its last cleaning. Kane could forgive her for that lapse in judgment. Her situation had been far greater than she had expected, and she had performed excellently. Her sidearm had served faithfully through the last battle, and that was all that mattered. Applying a generous helping of cleaning oils to the rags, Kane allowed himself fifteen minutes to attend the weapon. The insides of the barrel were a disgrace, choked with soot and powder. Dreadful condition, something he would have beaten a Whiteshield for. It was not his place to discipline a commissar, Junior rank or not. She would have to atone for this in her own way.  
By the time he finished the bolt pistol, the corporal had woken. Brunson woke slowly, wastefully, stretching on the sheets and blinking himself into awareness; that sort of thing might fly on an Imperial vessel, or in peacetime. Not on a strange vessel crewed by stranger people. Kane barked an order for the man to set about securing his gear. The corporal leapt out of the bed, guilt stricken across his face as he hastily roused himself and went looking for his weapons. Kane allowed the corporal to clean the chainsword; he had gotten enough grime and gore off of gear. While Brunson fiddled with a dislocated chain, the Kasrkin took stock of their assorted equipment. A half-dozen grenades, five hellgun magazines, ten lasgun magazines, three laspistol magazines, and three hellpistol magazines. Most were depleted, and several of the lasgun magazines had char marks from emergency reheating over fires. Those would be unreliable now, a last resort option. Worst case scenario he could rig some explosions with them. And twenty bolt shells for the commissar's sidearm. A significant amount of firepower for servants of the God-Emperor. Not enough to ease his distrust of the situation. Kane had little doubt they could kill the entire ship's contingent with this, but what then? Float in space until they died of old age or were boarded by another vessel. If anything were to go down, it needed to not be here. He needed feet on firm ground. Somewhere he could have a backup plan.

It was not until the corporal had completed maintenance on the chainsword that Kane realized his stomach's grumblings had reached an audible level. It had been days… millennia, really, since he had last eaten. The thought soured his mood, and once again he whispered a silent prayer that this all could be some drug-induced hallucination, perhaps his mind reeling in the last moments before the Titan's firepower obliterated their bodies and souls. No answer came, of course. He knew it was no hallucination, no trick of the Enemy. Everything looked real, felt real, moved real. His limbs remained fully in his control, there were no whispers at the edges of his awareness. Time passed in measurable seconds. As fiendish as Warp trickery could be, it could never fully mimic the real world. It could not; the Warp obeyed no natural laws, and the lawless could never but draw caricature of the law.

"Do we have a plan" the corporal dared to ask, shooting a nervous glance sideways at Kane.

"Take courage in your faith, Corporal." Kane touched the aquila on the power sword's scabbard, hanging at eye level to the Guardsman. "For now, that will suffice."

"But, Sergeant, if this is the third millennium, then the God-Emperor doesn't even ex-"

"Finish that sentence and I will end you."

The trooper wilted, and Kane let his hand fall away from the grip of the hellgun. A dreadful silence descended, made all the more eerie by the knowledge that the trooper, as misguided as the sentiment had been, was right. With even what little Kane knew of the history of mankind, he knew there had been a time before the God-Emperor. A time when humanity had floundered and mucked about in the galaxy without purpose. This had to have been that time. A time where humanity lacked a leader, a united vision of expansion and conquest. The thought nearly ruined his appetite. This would be a hard time, if simply for the reason that they lacked any discernible purpose.

"Corporal," Kane motioned for the man to take a seat at the small table, "we are in a strange time. We have found ourselves in a situation that I doubt any before have suffered. I am sure you heard stories of the irregularities of Warp travel, how time means little in the Warp, and without navigation, a ship can find itself adrift outside of the natural time-stream. Something similar has happened to us, now, and we must hold fast to our faith. It does not matter where we find ourselves. What matters is where we came from. Snow does cease to exist in the summertime, it just isn't there. So it is with our faith. We hold true to that which we know. The God-Emperor will protect us, regardless of when we are."

"Understood, Sergeant." The man quivered with barely restrained fear. He was badly shaken, and Kane could not fault him.

"Now, get dressed. The ship's uniform will do for now; until we can repair our uniforms they are hardly serviceable. It would be improper for us to represent the Imperium of Man in beggar's garbs. I will summon our guard and see what the ship captain intends to do with us."

" **If you would like to speak with Commander Shepard, I can summon him to your quarters."**

The damnable voice emerged from numerous locations at once, projected through minute speakers hidden across the ceiling. Kane stiffened at its unexpected announcement. Had it been listening in on them? Were they under constant surveillance here? He would need to be more cautious with his words in the future. For now, he had not said anything to cause trouble.

"I would see to it that we are fed" he announced, picking out a speaker at random to address. From what little he had understood, this ship's intelligence had a secured housing somewhere on-board the ship. There was no true 'speaking to it,' but it felt odd to address the empty air. "And that we may check on our wounded commissar."

" **Summoning Commander Shepard"** the voice replied. " **He will be there shortly to escort you."**

"The ship captain is coming to guide us himself?" Kane frowned. "Is that common practice?"

" **Commander Shepard has made it clear that no one is to interact with you without his approval."**

"That is very trusting" Kane muttered, refusing to finish his thought. _And dangerous._

" **Were you to cause trouble, I am capable of venting all oxygen from any chamber in the ship within 3.94 seconds. Commander Shepard's implants would allow him to survive long after you would asphyxiate."**

He did not know whether to be horrified or amused by the intelligence's statement. To give an artificial intelligence that much power over a ship spoke of unlimited trust in the nature of the intelligence. That was incredibly dangerous. More than Kane could ever hope to be.

"Equip yourself with a sidearm" Kane ordered to corporal.

"The rest of our equipment?" Brunson picked up the laspistol, ejected the magazine, and slotted it back in. His movements showed a familiarity with the weapon. Perhaps he had used one often in the artillery company.

"We will secure the room from intrusion as best we can. There are only two of us, and we both need to eat, as well as guard the Junior Commissar. We do not have the ability to cover everything, and of the two, I would fear the loss of our commissar more than the weapons. This crew is…" his eyes drifted up pointedly towards the ceiling, "not a threat."

"Are you expecting trouble?"

"I am Kasrkin." He finished selecting which gear to take, and set about placing the other weapons in drawers and anywhere he could remove them from immediate view. The power sword came with him. That was a weapon he would not leave behind. He continued to whisper prayers, reaffirming his commitment to the Emperor of Mankind, requesting guidance in this new world where faithless and heresy abounded.

The soft bell-tone of the door alerted them both that someone had arrived. Kane glanced at the door, waiting for it to open. The Cadians shared an expressionless look.

" **The Commander is outside waiting for you to open the door."**

"He is not going to open it himself?" Kane approached the door and inspected the door panel. Locked. As they had left it.

" **Commander Shepard left strict orders for your room to be left locked for your convenience. I am able to override the lock and allow him entrance, if you would like."**

Kane slid the panel to unlocked, and stepped back to trigger the door's sensors. It slid open to reveal a tired Commander Shepard, dressed down to the same uniform fatigues that they had acquired. He held a steaming mug of what smelled vaguely like recaf in one hand, the other hung loose at his side. No weapons on him.

"Morning," the Commander offered, stifling a yawn. He blinked several times, as if to assure himself that they were indeed real. "Hungry?"

"I would check on our comrade first."

Commander Shepard's eyes flicked down to the pistol holstered on Kane's hip. He took a slow sip from his mug, raising an eyebrow as he gazed back up at Kane. Asking the question, but not being so rude as to voice it. When Kane refused to give him the satisfaction the ship captain shrugged and gestured for them to come along. "Medical bay is right by the mess hall, so it won't be a detour. Gotta warn you though, most of the crew is out and about right now. Breakfast is the only good meal on the ship. Even Gardner can't mess up bacon." The Commander chuckled to himself, enjoying some joke they were not privy to.

"Your ship is tiny" Kane stated, marveling again that it took them only a few dozen steps down the corridor before they reached the elevator. "What is your crew rating?"

"Twenty four" Shepard replied. "Capacity for fifty, but we haven't a need for that many yet."

"Is that all?"

"It's only a frigate."

"Our frigates crew thousands" Kane grunted.

Commander Shepard paused in the middle of the passage, mug raised halfway to his lips. A second long pause interrupted their walk before the ship captain made a noise like a sigh and took a long draught from his mug, draining the rest of its contents in one swig. Then they continued walking.

"Of course yours are bigger."

"Our largest vessels reach tens of kilometers and can carry millions with room to spare."

"Sonuvabitch." The ship captain switched the mug between his hands, and fiddled with the orange light on his wrist. "This is going to be a long day, isn't it? Next thing you are going to tell me is that you have thousands of super soldiers that punch tanks for fun."

"Those would be the Adeptus Astartes, though I doubt that they consider powerfists a preferred method of anti-vehicular warfare."

"Irish coffee" the Commander muttered, sounding forlorn and wistful. He led them around to the medical bay without more questions, perhaps preferring to be more awake before dealing with more oddities. True to the man's word, a significant portion of the crew occupied the mess hall. Kane counted sixteen, and some were not even eating. They stood about, or sat as space was available. Regardless of what they had been doing, every single one stopped and stared as they entered the mess hall. An expectant hush pervaded the air, but Kane ignored it. He was not here to satisfy the curiosity of mere crew ratings. Following the Commander's lead, they approached the medical bay doors.

"You allow your crew to loiter, Commander?" Kane could not suppress the question. Its answer would prove vital should trouble arise, either for them or for the ship. Operation security overrode any desire for subtlety.

"The system is deserted, Sergeant Kane. And the _Normandy_ has the best sensor and stealth suites short of the top-tier STG reconnaissance vessels. We would know the instant anything entered the system."

"Your confidence is commendable. You said this ship is the second of its kind. The… _SR-2_. What happened to the first?"

"Surprise attack." Shepard grimaced. Some of the nearby crew pointedly looked away, as if embarrassed by the question for the commander's sake. "The _Normandy SR-1_ was hunting rogue Geth constructs through this system, but was ambushed by a dreadnought-class warship of the Collector's. Down there," he pointed to the floor, "that was the remains of the _SR-1_."

"It held sentiment for you?"

"It was my ship." Shepard fell silent for a long moment. One hand absently reached up and brushed one of the glowing scars on his face. "I died here."

It took Kane a few seconds to process the revelation. Corporal Brunson was less restrained.

"You died?"

"I got better," the commander said with a carefully-crafted shrug of indifference. Kane could tell it was manufactured for the sake of the crew. The door finished its decontamination cycle and unlocked. They entered the bay, with Kane eagerly sliding past the commander to check on their comrade.

The medical bay had not changed. It surprised him to find no other crew inside. On an Imperial ship, the medicae wards always overflowed with injuries. Less than thirty crew, he reminded himself. Small numbers meant fewer accidents. Which also answered his unspoken question of how they had only secured a single medicae for the entire vessel. Having one medicae for thirty crew was an exorbitant ratio.

Of course, from what he had seen, this one medicae had more than enough skill and experience to warrant manning the ship by herself. Doctor Chakwas sat at her desk, plugging away on a holographic keyboard as she filled out some report. It amazed him each time he saw it how abundantly they used their technology. Holographic runes on doors, for cogitators… seeing this drove home how much humanity had lost. With this level of technology, it did not surprise him that humankind would dominate the galaxy in only a few thousand years.

Junior Commissar Blake had fallen into a coma, according the to medicae. After the initial lifesaving surgery, Doctor Chakwas had set about decontaminating her as best she could. Most of her clothing had been removed, those that did not require moving her overly much. In place of her bloody armor, the elderly medicae had covered her with a patient's dress, leaving it resting on her rather than having attempted to ease it under her for a full fitting. Heavy swaths of bandages hid her most intimate places. The commissar had an almost peaceful smile on her face, like a sleeping child. Seeing her without the mud and the blood reminded Kane that this woman had been a student of the Commissariat, not a battle-hardened warrior. Her features, though striking and noble, still retained the softness of youth, and her frame was much smaller than he had first thought.

"She still lives" Kane noted with approval. He had not expected the commissar to live. Her wounds would have put the Imperium's best medicae to the test. But Junior Commissar Blake possessed a hardy spirit, and the medicine of this time worked miracles. He shuffled to the side as the Doctor came to stand beside him.

"The damage to her body has been addressed. What remains to heal is outside of any medical hands."

"Meaning?"

"Her body has all but shut down, a mixture of shock and this coma-like state she has entered. Physically, I have done everything for her that I can. I repaired her ruptured blood vessels, I sealed her broken bones and hardened her organs. Now, we can only wait and hope that her spirit wants to live."

"I am familiar with the concept. She will live. She is a Cadian."

The assertion meant nothing to them, but it soothed Kane's own thoughts. Cadians endured. Cadians survived. In hardship and disaster, they thrived. If ever this woman were to prove her Cadian roots, it would be here.

"You have a well-stocked facility, small as it is."

"Doctor Chakwas is one of the best in her field. Wouldn't settle for anything less." Commander Shepard reached up and slapped a cabinet at random. "Also, Cerberus dumped a planet's ransom into this ship. Only makes sense they would have the medical bay primed."

"And who is this _Cerberus_? They are human, yes?"

Judging by the dark look that flashed across Commander Shepard's face, there was no love lost between them. Kane made a note of that. "Cerberus is the party that provided the ship, and returned me to the living. God's honest truth, they are a radical human supremacist group that has ties to numerous terrorist actions, illegal scientific experiments, and xenophobic hate groups."

The Cadians exchanged a bitter glance. Kane should not have been surprised that the human supremacists were considered evil in this age. Still, it bothered him deeply that humanity as a whole was this blind to the threat of the xenos.

"Before I _died_ ," the commander continued, "I killed a lot of Cerberus agents. On numerous worlds, for numerous reasons. Back then, they were little more than murderers and black ops psychopaths. Since then, they have become more organized, more… driven. It had become more of an organization and less of a fringe terrorist show, but their goals are still the same. They have murdered Alliance officials, experimented with Husk technology and Thorian spores, and even attempted to destroy whole colonies. That was the Cerberus I knew."

"And something changed?"

"Desperate allies." Commander Shepard scowled. "There's a bigger enemy right now, and Cerberus is able and willing to step outside the law to stop that threat. As much as I loathe the organization as a whole, there are some good people in it. And they did bring me back to life, so I owe them." He did not sound the least bit happy about that. "I am not working for Cerberus, but I am working with them. At least until we can stop the Collectors, and maybe through that, the Reapers."

"Collectors?" Kane listened intently, honing in on the odd names and attempting to place them in his mind. It sounded arrogant, stylish, symbolic perhaps. Eldar raiders, perhaps.

"An alien race" the commander answered. "For the longest time they would come out of their relay for trinkets and technology, but recently they have begun targeting human colonies. They have… technology, that allows them to wipe out whole colonies at a time."

"Orbital bombardment?"

"What? No." The commander's confusion registered for a moment before he smoothed it over. "No, they have this swarm agent that paralyzes entire colonies at once, and they take them all out as prisoners."

"What do they look like?"

Commander Shepard brought up an image. Kane did not know whether to be relieved or anxious that he had never seen it before. An ugly, bug-like race with bulky heads and chitinous armor. Humanoid though, so clearly intelligent.

"And they are invading human worlds? Why has this human Alliance of yours not stepped in to stop them? Do they possess a significant fleet?

"The colonies that are attacked are all outside Alliance space, and therefore outside Alliance jurisdiction. And the Collectors are able to step in system, assault the colony, and be out in eight hours. Hardly enough time to mount a response unless we had advanced knowledge of where they were going.

"Hours," Kane breathed, trying to imagine an Imperial fleet with that level of speed. If the Imperium possessed the ability to assault an enemy planet from outside the system within hours, they could reconquer half the galaxy in no time at all. "And how large is this fleet?"

"It's… one ship. One big, massive ship."

"One." Kane was far too impressed by the ship's speed to comment on the ludicrous thought that a single ship could cause this much damage on its own. Surely there must have been escort craft. For a ship to take on prisoners, it must have been a carrier or a transport vessel. Its combat capabilities would be sorely lacking. "And the Alliance has not launched a fleet into the sector to hunt it down."

"Outside their jurisdiction."

"That's ridiculous. Every human world belongs by right to humanity. Every human citizen is a citizen of humanity. They _are_ the jurisdiction."

"Maybe in your time, but not in ours." The commander motioned to the door, offering for them to join the morning meal. "We play by a different set of rules. We would have to acquire territories via the Council, and they have not been so keen to give humanity anything more in the past few years, seeing as how we have skyrocketed to galactic prominence and have everybody scrambling with worry."

Before they could step out, the medicae insisted on giving them the second round of booster shots and inquiring to their health. Kane accepted it stoically, answering a handful of questions about their diet. He hardly thought it necessary, until the medicae pointed out that thousands of years of microevolution could have led to changed digestive processes. Kane pretended to understand what she was talking about.

By the time they escaped into the mess hall, the gaggle of crew had lessened, though many had found reason to remain about. Ignoring the stares, Kane followed Commander Shepard to the line and picked up a rectangular platter. He inspected the food with guarded interest as they shuffled closer. Hardly a gourmet feast, but it was much better pickings than he had ever seen on an Imperial vessel. There were real greens, and what looked like genuine meat, as opposed to generic brown protein pastes. At the commander's insistence he tried a bite of everything first, considering each food carefully lest some unknown allergy or reaction occur. Nothing happened, so Kane piled his plate high and followed Commander Shepard to the table, with Corporal Brunson as his shadow. The younger Guardsman had remained quiet for a while now, choosing to observe and learn rather than speak.

The Commander seemed to intent on putting food in his belly to ask them any more questions, so they ate in silence, chowing down on what turned out to be one of the best meals Kane had enjoyed in quite some time. The water tasted pure, lacking the residual sludge of purification fluid, and the vegetables were fresh. They also had these strips of cooked meat that were crunchy to the bite in some places, but still had enough fat in other places to set his mouth on fire with greasy appeal.

A few of the braver crew tried approaching the table, but Commander Shepard shooed them away with silent glances or shakes of his head. Kane appreciated that. It would be hard to enjoy these meat strips with the constant presence of others looking over his shoulder.

Not long into the meal they were joined by the commander's raven-haired comrade, the one with the icy frown and statuesque bearing. Officer Lawson took the seat next to the commander, directly across from Kane. Kane offered a flick of his eyes in acknowledgement, noting the obvious displeasure oozing from her expression, and paused when he saw the mountain of meat and fatty foods that covered her plate. It made Kane's portion seem an appetizer in comparison. That earned her a second lookover, this one curious to see how she retained that figure with a diet like this. Must have gone straight to her breasts and ass, he thought to himself.

"Shepard," she said, speaking out of the side of her mouth while she set about carving the giant block of meat she had acquired into bite-sized pieces. "The ground teams have finished scouring the site. All relevant materials have been recovered, although the science team is still recording residuals from the anomaly. EDI has assured me that we were not exposed to any lasting effects."

"Thanks, Miranda. Get any sleep last night?"

"I do not require much." Her report finished, she tore into her meal, attacking it with a finely-tuned ferocity that belied her proper appearance. Her etiquette remained superb, of course, but she somehow managed to speed up the process several times over without taking away from her poise. Kane had seen starving frontline soldiers shovel food less quickly than she tucked it all away. By the time he finished his plate she had nearly done her in. He could not help but be fascinated by the ease with which she tore the platter apart. A quick glance at Shepard confirmed there was nothing out of the ordinary about her appetite. Despite the pounds of greasy food, she was still lean and fit as a professional entertainer.

"Commander," Kane pushed his platter a few inches away and fixed the man with his full attention. There was no better time to get this over with than right now. Or, there never would be a better time at all. "I have a question."

"Go ahead." The commander leaned back in his chair, stretching just slightly.

Kane picked his words carefully, aware of how the crew were all eagerly listening, wondering what he would say. No visible weapons were about. That was good. He did not want this to escalate against them, should the answer prove less than favorable.

"What is your plan for us?"

Officer Lawson set her fork down in a nonchalant manner and wiped her lips with a napkin, eyes flashing him a steely look, as if she was reading his very thoughts. Her free hand disappeared under the table; Kane had no illusions that she was not armed. Across the mess hall, the more militant crew members tensed, understanding the implications of the question well enough. Corporal Brunson grimaced and eased back in his seat, freeing his legs in case he needed to stand quickly. But not before shoving a last piece of the meat strips into his mouth.

Commander Shepard digested the question for a moment, then reached over to a pot in the middle of the table and refilled his drink. It was a casual, unconcerned move, showing no alarm, anticipation, or anything, really. He merely blew on his drink before taking a slow sip. The fact that half the room had just switched into Fight-or-Flight mode did not appear to bother him in the slightest.

"No idea." He took another sip. "Truth be told, I have no goddamn idea. The intelligent idea would be to restrain you, confiscate your weapons, and deliver you all in a bundle to an Alliance research station to exploit your technology and re-purpose it to our military's usage. The empathetic idea would be to treat you as refugees, to shelter you until we can find a place to let you go where you will be stable and capable of surviving on your own. The selfish idea, well, I think it's selfish although others would disagree, is that I hire you. I told you about these Collectors. I am currently assembling a team to take them on, which is possibly the most one-sided suicide mission in the history of the galaxy. To do that, I need elite warriors or every kind and any kind. I need guns and muscle. You've got both."

The commander's honesty threw Kane off-guard. The man was blunt, truthful, and outwardly showed little care to what Kane's response might be. Kane did not know where to go from here. Momentarily at a loss for words, he looked at the woman across the table. Officer Lawson returned his stare with a challenge, her own thoughts masked except that she clearly did not approve of the third option. Or the second.

"That is it?"

"Well," Commander Shepard chuckled to himself. "I could always shove you all into the airlock and space you, pretend this whole thing never happened."

Obviously, the commander was joking. He would never waste such a valuable cache of weapons technology.

"When will you decide?"

"Look, Sergeant, I have only been alive...you know what I mean… for less than a week. There are a lot of decisions for me to make, paperwork to catch up on. I have a pile this big" he gestured with his hand "of paperwork. And we don't even use paper anymore for most stuff. That was before I had to deal with you people appearing in a giant explosion of scientific go-fuck-yourself bullshit. What I can tell you is that we are leaving orbit today, and heading straight to Omega. That gives us two days to figure something out, at the very least."

"Two day." Kane accepted the assessment. "Until then we remain your prisoners?"

"Prisoners? Would you be a prisoner if I let you keep all your weapons? You are my guests, Kane. Until you prove I should hold you in the brig, that is."

"If I wanted to cause trouble, I doubt you could stop us" Kane pointed out. Not as a threat, but as a mere observation. One that the commander accepted with a nod and another sip of his drink. The raven-haired officer grew even moodier at the comment. Kane still wondered if these people were so naive.

"Guess that settles it, then." The commander smiled over his mug. He had an earnest, likable smile. The kind that got plastered on recruiting posters. "But the other half of that questions is finding out what _you_ want to do."

"How do you mean?" Kane stifled a burp that tried to rise from his gut. The meal had been more that satisfying. He wondered if Commander Shepard had ordered it specially for them. A satisfied belly was always a good tool for swaying moods and defusing explosive situations. Judging by the lack of decorum and discipline among the crew, he assumed this was an ordinary event. That reinforced his belief that this ship captain was honest to a fault.

"You're a soldier, Kane. I don't know anything about your military, or your capabilities, but the important thing it that you are a grunt like I am," he paused, shrugged, and continued. "Like I was. I've been bumped up a few pedestals. But I started as a rifleman, and I know what drives a rifleman. When they get bored, life is hell. Throw them at an obstacle or a problem, and they'll be happy."

"That is correct," Kane agreed.

"Good. Then the first order of business is to find something for you two to do over the next few days. Sitting on your hands isn't going to help anyone."

"I've suffered worse than a few days of boredom, but I see your point. What are you intentions, then?"

"Well," his officer shot him a _don't-look-at-me_ glare. "We have a workroom down that corridor. The computers there can get you on the Extranet. Literally could spend a lifetime on there and not run out of information. We have a few library and research type sites we can hook you up with to start learning our time. Down on the engineering deck we have a small gymnasium, mostly just dead weights and a couple compact machines, but it works. Officer's Lounge is that way past the-"

"Do you intend to give him a blueprint of the ship's critical systems as well" Officer Lawson asked suddenly, her biting tone stopping the ship captain cold. Both Shepard and Kane turned to regard her expectantly, though the Cadian was more interested in seeing whether or not such blatant disregard for her commander would earn her a bullet through the head.

Kane spoke before Shepard could offer a more polite answer. He understood this woman, at least. She was a bitch to the core. Had their situations been reversed, he would be saying and doing the exact same things. She understood her role as executive officer, even if she lack the discipline to not counter her commander in public. There was no time for niceties when security was concerned.

"Your concern is commendable, Officer Lawson, but flawed. Your ship is tiny compared to what I have traveled in. If I wanted to harm the crew or this ship, there would be nothing you could do to stop me, and it would take me minutes to discover the ship's layout for myself."

"That sounds like a threat" she growled.

"We are not enemies" the commander interrupted. He directed his irritation at both parties.

"That option remains on the table." The executive officer picked up her platter, so thoroughly cleaned it might have been unused. "I will not apologize for being skeptical of their intentions."

Kane bit back from responding, choosing to follow the commander's lead. Nothing productive could come out of a fight here. She stalked off to deposit her platter, and Kane studied the way the crew reacted to her presence, as distracting as the sway of her sumptuous gait was. A whole lot of unease and reverence followed her. The same kind of looks that Guardsmen reserved for Commissariat officers. Her arrogance certainly matched. A small part of his mind wondered what she would look like in the dreaded cap and coat. What came to mind was the slightly older picture of Junior Commissar Blake. The two might have been mistaken for sisters in this time. There was enough of a resemblance to fool the casual observer.

"Miranda is just doing her job" Commander Shepard told them, in a near-apology.

"Understandable. I must admit I cannot fault her suspicions. Were our positions reversed, you would be locked in cells until the Inquisition could send a representative to deal with you. You have been incredibly generous, Commander Shepard. Such things do not happen in my time without strings attached. Your honesty is unfamiliar to me."

"I've always been a straight shooter."

"Indeed." Kane allowed himself a moment to admire her sculpted figure as she leaned over the mess disposal to turn in her dishes. "She would make an excellent poster figure. For your Alliance."

"She could have, but she is Cerberus."

"And Cerberus, I assume, is mutually exclusive from the Alliance."

"There are some former Alliance members on board." Shepard gestured broadly. "Joker, the pilot, Doctor Chakwas, Hawthorne, Bill, Gardner… most of the crew is former Alliance, actually. I figure the Illusive Man knew it would make me more willing to work with him."

"So these people abandoned the Alliance to join a terrorist organization?" Kane cast a critical eye around. Even if he did not agree with Cerberus being on the wrong end of public opinion, he felt nothing but contempt for those that abandoned their cause to join another. Even the Ecclesiarchy's so-call redemptionists, former cultists brought back to the truth of the God-Emperor, were of no more use than cannon fodder on the battlefield. If a man could switch allegiances once, he could do it again.

"Cerberus is complicated. And it is currently pushing one hell of a propaganda game, or so I have heard. The organization operates in independent cells, very disconnected, very fluid. Some of them are entirely legal and good, other are not. Half of them probably don't even know they are in Cerberus. But this crew, it's the best you are going to find in Cerberus. I knew most of these people before, back when I served in the Alliance. They are loyal and good people."

"Yet they all reneged on their loyalties and joined the other side."

"Better way to think of it" the armorer appeared, taking the seat that Officer Lawson had just vacated. "Is that they stayed on Shepard's side."

Kane nodded to the man, and changed topics. Ideological differences would not get sorted out over breakfast. "So then, you are the only non-Cerberus operative on the ship. And you are the ship captain. Is that not odd, to give the entire ship to an outsider?"

"It's a long story," the commander assured him. "Short version: The Collectors serve the Reapers, which are coming to destroy all sentient life in the galaxy. They already tried to come in… two and a half years ago. I killed the first one. It was called _Sovereign_. We think the Collectors work for the Reapers, and so they ambushed my ship, the original _Normandy_ , and shot it down here, over Alchera. I was spaced, suffocated, and burned through atmo. Somehow Cerberus got a hold of me and invested God-only-knows how much into bringing me back from, literally, the dead. They called it the Lazarus Project. I'm a first of a kind."

Digesting it all quietly, Kane considered the points that he wanted to prod at. There was, of course, the glaring issue. "You must be quite valuable to be worth bringing back from the dead."

"Apparently they thought so." The Commander laughed quietly. "Even before _Sovereign_ , I was a pretty popular guy. Hero of the Skyllian Blitz, N7 qualification, considered and then inducted into the ranks of the Spectres… I was on posters for the Alliance before I died. Now… I'm pretty sure every sentient being in the galaxy knows my face."

"So… a propaganda tool. If Cerberus has this great human hero working for them, that will no doubt fill their coffers quite comfortably."

"Yes." Shepard's grin faded into a scowl at the thought. "There is that. But more importantly, I know what we are fighting. I have stared it in the eye and killed it. That is why they gave me the ship. Because I know the stakes and they believe I can beat them."

"Second question: _Sovereign_. You say you killed it? What did it looked like?"

The Commander fell silent for a moment, pondering the question. "When I say I killed it, that is not entirely true. I defeated it would be the better term. _Sovereign_ was a ship. A living ship, at least two kilometers long, black as onyx and shaped like a squid. It was… strange. According to it, the whole ship was a collection of intelligences that powered the shell. It could project itself at a distance of hundreds of kilometers, assert control over others' minds, do all sorts of things. It was operating through a vessel, another Spectre named Saren. I killed Saren in the heart of the Citadel. Then _Sovereign_ brought him back through his cybernetics and I killed it again. The ship itself was killed by the combined firepower of five different fleets. But we think that the only reason it fell was because of the damage I did directly to its intelligence by killing the thing it was pouring its power into."

"An intelligent ship?" Kane had never heard of something like that.

"The Reapers are old. We don't have a clue how old."

"An interesting story." Kane gestured to his plate. Shepard rose and they followed taking their platters over to the be washed. Most of the crew had wandered off, but the few that remained were watching with unashamed stares. He continued to ignore them. They were not worth this time. "So if you are not Cerberus, you are still Alliance?"

"I haven't gotten that far yet" Shepard admitted. "Only been awake for a few days. Haven't gotten around to getting that whole mess sorted out. Right now I'm running on Spectre authority. The Council reinstated me, though with a good deal of grumbling."

"Spectre. What is that?"

"Spectres are agents of the Citadel Council. Individuals of exceptional skill that investigate illegal activities and put them down with extreme prejudice, more or less."

"Sounds like our Inquisition." Kane appreciated being able to draw a comparison. Finally. He had seen an Inquisitor once. And he knew the stories, what they did. "They are individual agents? Do they all have retinues like this, or do they operate on their own?"

"I guess it depends on the Spectre. As far as I know most operate on their own. I'm used to working with a team… Alliance military after all. But I would guess I am rather different than most. After all, most Spectres don't face off against a galaxy-killing enemy like I do."

"Most Spectre agents are loners" Officer Taylor chimed in. "I've met one before. They all have their networks of agents, informants, etcetera, but they all tend to rely on themselves. The amount of responsibility they have, and the enemies they make, isn't very conducive to having friends."

"And where do you fit into this?" Kane asked. "Are you merely crew? Shepard brought you down to the planet as one of two companions, so I assume you are more than a simple armorer."

The muscular former soldier took no offense at the bluntness of his attitude. "I was project security for _him_." He gestured at Shepard. "Miranda was the project head, she oversaw the research and operations and all the fancy stuff. I was just the grunt who made sure things went according to plan."

"That woman is a scientist?" He could not help but voice his amazement. There was nothing about her that struck him as a Mechanicus-type adept. She was too… human. The thought of an enginseer strutting about in that form-hugging catsuit brought a heretical image to mind.

"Miranda is many things" Shepard answered, glancing to Jacob for confirmation. "Spy, Scientist, Commander… she told me that she was genetically engineered to be the 'perfect human.' I don't think there is much of anything that is out of her reach."

"This is quite a retinue you have, Commander Shepard." Kane turned his thoughts towards a less mind-engaging task. All this talk of strange and foreign things had brought on a headache. For now, he required something less stressful. Something that could help him maintain his composure. "I thank you for the… conversation. If it is agreeable, I would return to my quarters now."

"Going back to your room?" Shepard clasped his hands together and pointed with one of them in the direction of the elevator. "If I may, can I suggest a way to pass the time?"

"You may." Kane glanced over to Corporal Brunson. The trooper's attention had wandered, gazing across the numerous other crew scattered about the room. He had something that was not quite a frown on his face. More of a curious interest. That would have to be remedied.

"You have laser rifles." A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of the Commander's mouth. Kane understood without having to be asked. He had seen similar, though often less composed, reactions among feral worlders when they first encountered the simple miracle of las weaponry. The thought that this man, an apparently quite well-regarded and highly esteemed soldier-commander, got all giddy inside at the thought of seeing a simple lasgun in action gave Kane a surge of confidence. These people were not primitives, but they were not on the same level as Imperial society either. He still had plenty of knaves in his cuff.

"You would like to see one?"

"If you don't mind showing it off" Shepard assured him. "I'm not asking to use it, not yet. But I would like to see what it can do. Laser tech is practically unheard of in our own time."

"Do you have an appropriate firing range aboard?"

Shepard did not try to hide his grin any longer.

 **-v-**

Jacob went ahead to prepare the armory. While Shepard had walked with the two Cadians to their room to gather their weapons, he had hurriedly cleared some of the worktables and pushed crates out of the way to clear the pathetically small target range that they had tucked in the corner of the armory. Theoretically, if one stood at the far end of the room from the targets, it gave decent pistol practice. Here he was more interested in seeing what sort of firepower they had packing. Accuracy was less a concern than stopping power. He had his own ideas of what an energy-based projectile could do. If it could penetrate armor… the human body contained a lot of water.

The door that led to the elevators opened, and Shepard entered with the two newcomers in tow. Between the two _Cadians_ rolled a simple cart, loaded to overflowing with their ranged weaponry. The swords, he noted, were absent. All the better. Those would only distract him, and the treat he was about to see needed his full attention. A little thrill tingled up his spine at the thought. _Real laser rifles._ Every government in the galaxy would pay a decade' budget to get their hands on this hardware. And the _Normandy_ had no less than five working laser weapons on board. If they could ever be trusted enough to use them, he just might die happy.

The taller brute of a sergeant set about moving the weapons from the cart to the table, but the other one stared about in wonder. He stepped away from the cart, missing a pointed glare from his superior, and approached one of the secured weapon lockers. Jacob followed his movement without concern. Simple curiosity. They had their own weapons sitting in arms reach. No threat to allow him to look.

"This room supplies your entire ship with weapons?"

"I'll choose to not take that as an insult." Jacob shrugged and moved over to examine the laser rifles. Kane had set them in neat rows, each weapon carefully positioned to provide maximum visual coverage while somehow managing to get all three rifles and two pistols onto the one table. Studying them in-person sure beat the three-dimensional scans. The weapons were boxy and functional, lacking in the curvature and elegant compactness of Council-race technology. That being said, they did have a unique beauty to them. The symbol of the double-headed eagle was proudly stamped on the right side of each weapon. Brass letters, written in such tiny curling script that he needed a magnifier to properly read them, decorated the opposite side of the larger rifle and its companion pistol. The letters themselves were indecipherable for a few moments, then the slightest pressure rubbed against the inside of his skull and they presented themselves in recognizable characters. God Bless EDI and her translation software.

Apart from the design, the rifles and pistols were by and large what he had expected. Similar concept, similar weapons. They had a trigger, fire selector, barrel, either a collapsible or fixed stock, iron sights or enhanced. Instead of one fire selector though, they had two. The largest difference was the presence of a physical magazine. Modern technology had rendered such things obsolete decades ago, though the new fad of thermal clips had returned the concept in a limited form. These magazines were more like what one could find in the twentieth century. Boxy, utilitarian, inelegant on their own. When combined with the rest of the weapon though, it made for a formidable profile. The lack of compactness was a hindrance as far as carrying went, but these men did not appear the sort that cared much for subtlety.

The larger rifle's barrel rivaled that of some shotguns he had fired before. His eyes roved back to one of the grenade launchers they had locked away, mentally comparing sizes and realizing that they were roughly the same bulk. Grenade launchers required a decently strong arm to wield effectively. They were not cumbersome, but they had a good deal of weight. On Alchera, Sergeant Kane handled his rifle as if it weighed nothing. The man was built like a krogan, blocky and muscular to a point that even Jacob found himself a little self-conscious. He was no ordinary man; that was certain.

Comparing the weapons to each other, Jacob wondered if the Sergeant's weapon was some sort of next-level equivalent. It seemed to be an upgrade to the other two, which appeared the same except for the stock difference and a few centimeters of barrel length. Kane's was larger, heavier, more fearsome. Of the three, it alone had a scope enhancement. Not a particularly large one, just a rounded piece two-fingers long with clear glass ports on both the front and rear. A small box attached to the top most likely housed a battery for it. He wondered what sort of fantastic futuristic ability the scope had.

The only other identifying differences between the weapons was color scheme. The pair of larger weapons had been painted a reflection-less dark grey, nearly black in its intensity. The others were drab green with grey secondary. It matched their armor. Kane's was dark and Brunson's was green.

His curiosity could not quite be sated by merely observing. Stretching out a hesitant hand, he glanced from the Sergeant to the Corporal and back, silently seeking permission to touch. Both men stiffened, muscles tensing at the thought. The grim set of Kane's jaw warned him that these men were more than attached to their weapons. Offering a respectful nod, Jacob dropped his hand to his side and gestured for them to continue.

"Can you show us how they work?"

"Do you have a target?" Kane looked around, his frown of disapproval showing. His gaze lingered on the viewports that allowed them to see out into space. Unease could be read in his eyes. He did not approve of being so close to the void, apparently. The tension exuding from his posture told Jacob that he did not trust the hull integrity of this small ship.

Shepard approached the switch at the far end of the room and stole their attention. "We have some ballistic dummies. Kinetic gels and fiberplas innards are designed to simulate a human body. And here," he flipped a second switch and the kinetic barrier generators flared to life, surrounding each dummy with a shimmering golden field. "Are the shields."

"Shields?" Corporal Brunson approached the dummies and held out a hand to inspect. He gasped sharply when his fingers slid straight through. "You have power fields?"

" _Kinetic barriers_ " Shepard corrected. "Designed to stop high velocity rounds and impacts. In all honesty I am not sure if they will do anything against your weapons."

"How rare is this technology?"

"Rare?" Jacob suppressed a snort of laughter. "They are about as ubiquitous as pistols. Every merc and soldier from Earth to the Terminus Systems has a kinetic barrier. Some are better than others, but it comes pretty standard on most any military-grade armor suit."

The Cadians exchanged pointed looks. Jacob had a good idea of what they were thinking. He could read the glee on the Corporal's face. Someone's day had just been made. It amazed him that both parties had technology that amazed the other.

"Let's test it, then." Kane scooped up his rifle and ran it through a reassuringly familiar firing pre-check. Insert magazine, check safety, inspect power supply, check sights. He did not turn on the scope, Jacob saw. There was no point in doing that. Not in this situation. The ease with which the man maneuvered his weapon left no doubt that he had spent considerable hours interacting with it. How much of that had been spent putting people in the ground, Jacob could only wonder at.

With a flick of his finger, Kane activated the magazine. His finger moved to the rearmost fire selector and he rotated it to the middle position. Then, shifting forward, he moved the forward selector to the notch showing parallel lines with a single dot between them. _Single Fire_ , he assumed. Ten evenly-placed lights winked along the length of the magazine, glowing a faint but recognizable green. Jacob's guess was that this was a charge indicator. As shots were fired, it would cycle down from ten to one, and eventually all would go dark when exhausted.

"This is a standard power shot" Kane told them. Shepard and Brunson retreated to stand behind him. The other Cadian appeared just as eager to see the rifle in action as the Normandy crew members. Perhaps he had not seen it himself before. Or maybe this rifle was really that badass.

Lifting the rifle to his shoulder in a fluid motion, Kane sighted on the target dummy and squeezed the trigger in the same breath. They had intended to watch for recoil, study the weapon itself, but their attention was torn away by the brilliant flash of crimson light, the screech of ionizing air, and the carnage that was the laser beam striking the dummy. The shot passed through the kinetic barrier without activating it, striking the fiberplas shell of the dummy with full force. Punching a fist-sized hole through the dummy, the beam continued on and left a scorch in the bulkhead behind. Kane lowered the rifle and ejected the magazine. Studying the effect of his shot with an expressionless mask, he sucked in a slow breath.

"You're right. Your shields don't work."

"Damn…" Shepard let out a whistle. His eyes fairly glowed with excitement as he stepped forward to inspect the smoking dummy. Jacob followed, both amazed and appalled by the level of destruction the beam had caused. The hole itself was clean, not dripping kinetic gel or hanging ragged strands of fiberplas. The laser beam had burned a total hole, searing the edges and leaving a neat gap where the heart would have been. Jacob reached out to confirm the size of it. He put three fingers in the hole, not daring to insert his whole hand. The kinetic gel hissed and steamed, still superheated by the energy of the shot. He shuddered despite himself. This kind of weaponry would rewrite modern warfare from the ground up. Kinetic barriers couldn't stop it, and the damage was as catastrophic as he thought it might be. The simulated body could only do that… simulate. Against true flesh and blood, things would be a whole lot worse. There would be shock, screaming, flopping. The stench of burning flesh. Maybe biotic barriers could do something, but no one was going to want to test that. Certainly he wouldn't. Not with that horror.

"And that's the standard weapon when you're from?"

"Standard among basic human troops. The Guard uses lasguns because they are easy to maintain, cheap to produce, and have effective firepower."

"Effective firepower? That's an understatement." Shepard whistled and made a point of staring at the rifle. The calculations were going on in his head. A single squad armed with these could tear right through a company of Alliance Marines without breaking a sweat. It would break the whole system of military tactics. "Do you even use projectile weapons?"

"The Imperium encompasses millions of worlds. Plenty of regiments use projectile firearms. Mostly primitive worlds, or specialist units. But there are the standard heavy weapons. Sniper rifles, heavy stubbers, boltguns, cannons."

"How does your Imperium produce enough weapons?" Jacob's puzzled frown matched the wonder in his eyes as he attempted to run the numbers in his head. There were only a few primary weapon manufacturers in the galaxy, including military-specific companies. Though large and pervasive, they could hardly keep up with peacetime demand. What sort of production levels did the future have?

"There are hundreds of worlds in the Imperium dedicated solely to the manufacture of weapons of war, Officer Taylor. We call them Forge Worlds, because that is what they do. Entire planets converted into endless factories. Controlled by the Mechanicus, they answer directly to the Ordo Mechanicus, but liaise with the Officio Administratum to provide weapons, munitions, and supplies to Imperial forces within regional sectors."

"Why did you settle on laser technology? Why not something like plasma, or gauss?"

Brunson answered for Kane, lifting up one of the standard lasgun magazines. "Las weapons produce limited recoil, which improves the aim of the soldier. They are lightweight and do not require cases of loose ammunition, which reduces production and distribution times, as well as carry weight on the soldier. In combat the charge of a las weapon can be adjusted to increase or decrease firepower, allowing a soldier to tailor his combat effectiveness to the threat. And, in a worst-case scenario where one is cut off from supplies, extended contact with intense heat sources can recharge a used charge pack. A scavenged recharge does a number on a pack, but it works in a pinch."

"As for plasma," Kane added, "the Imperium has limited access to plasma technology. Most of the facilities or schematics of plasma weaponry has been lost or destroyed, meaning that production of such weaponry is extremely rare and difficult to manufacture. Even when deployed, plasma technology is unstable at best, and overuse can lead to a catastrophic breach of the containment core, which leads to an explosion and often a dead soldier."

"Damn." Jacob shook his head. He cast a look a Shepard. "I guess we know the answer to that line of theory."

Shepard pointed to the one weapon that stood out from the others. The black and gold one, bulkier and sporting a large barrel. "What is that one?"

"That is a bolt pistol. Fires a .75 caliber self-propelled explosive shell, diamantine tip, depleted uranium core, mass-reactive detonator. Shoots like a pistol, explodes like a small artillery shell. Extremely powerful, excellent armor penetration; one of these can turn a regular into paste."

Shepard understood enough of what he said to realize this weapon had more killing power than the lasguns. Which begged the follow-up question: "And you don't use these because…"

"There are many patterns of bolt weapons, however they are expensive and limited. They also have tremendous recoil, and require a strong person to handle them. Outside of the Adeptus Astartes, bolt weapons are limited to high-class individuals, officers, and other important persons. It would cost far too much to equip an entire regiment with these weapons."

"Can you show us what it does?"

Kane cast the target dummy a dismissive glance. "One shot would leave that in ribbons. We only have a few dozen rounds for it, and I would rather not waste any."

Both crew members of the Normandy nodded. Shepard studied one of the shells, provided by Kane as he discharged it from the magazine and held it for inspection. "Given the right materials, we may be able to reproduce this. Perhaps the components you speak of have a different name to us."

The Cadians shifted uneasily, changing their weight. Shepard had meant for the idea to encourage them. It seemed to have the opposite effect. Kane's expression soured, Brunson's went slack with thought. Neither replied to the suggestion. In fact, Kane blatantly ignored it, choosing instead to point at the gaping hole in the target dummy.

"Now, that sort of shot is not always the case. That was a standard power shot from a hellgun-variant. It is an elite weapon, issued only to stormtroopers and specialized units. Hellgun packs have greater focus for increased armor penetration and lethality. They are designed to punch through armored and resistant targets. Ordinary lasguns are designed for killing ordinary people."

Shepard noticed the hint of disdain in the man's voice when he spoke of 'ordinary lasguns.' Elitist attitude. No surprise there. Regardless of when Kane came from, it gave Shepard a hint of familiarity to know that certain mindsets were the same. An unspoken agreement passed between the Cadians, and Brunson picked up the carbine variant. He took care in unfolding the stock, muttering something that sounded like a prayer under his breath as he stepped up to the firing line. Shepard offered a subtle nod to Jacob, who reset the monitors. The damaged target folded back into its port, replaced by a second one that bore none of the terrible damage their hellgun had inflicted.

Hellgun. The name did not lie.

Unlike the sure fire of Kane, Brunson took his time aiming. He seemed hesitant, eyes flicking from his sight to the scorch mark on the bulkhead. His reticence to fire could be understood. No sane person liked the idea of putting holes in a starship. After a considerable wait, Brunson squeezed the trigger.

Once again, the beam bypassed the shields. This time, however, the brilliant red shot merely drilled a small hole in the target's forehead. It did not penetrate as far as the hellgun; steaming gel bubbled out of the simulated skull. After a few seconds the leakage cleared, revealing a cave that showed the rear bone-material. A lethal shot, still more terrifying than a single rifle shot. The extent of the wound stretched two fingers wide. A satisfied shrug rippled across the young soldier's shoulders, and he lowered the weapon. Flicking the safety on, he discharged the magazine and set both on the table. The magazine, Jacob noted, showed only a single red light on the pips. Almost drained, he assumed.

Giving the charts another quick read, he saved the data and brought both dummies up side by side. Their outer layer was a hard gelatin, designed to perform as a armored body. Underneath, a kinetic gel of the same density and response of the human body. This was effectively field-grade armor they had shot through. Their own gear was useless against this. Cauterization would have been instantaneous. Shock probably within seconds. A horrid, brutally effective weapon system

The stench of ozone and burned gel was wafted their way from the dummies. Shepard thoughtfully activated the air scrubbers. All breathed a slight sigh of relief as the scent of recycled air filtered in. It smelled so much better than scorched gelatin.

"I'd hate to see your field hospitals" Jacob muttered. He returned both target dummies to their holes and deactivated the monitors. There was nothing more to be gained from them. It did not take science to understand this.

"You would hate it." Kane leaned against the table with crossed arms. Cocking his head to the side, he studied the armory racks on the far side. "Certainly they are not as clean as yours. I know I will not recognize this, but what is the current weapon technology of your time?"

"Heatsink projectile." Jacob plucked a Carnifex from the rack. "Ammunition is shaved tungsten rounds, heatsink keeps the weapon from overheating. Universal clips attach to just about any weapon in existence. Not as powerful as yours, but versatile."

"So every weapon is the same?"

"Hardly. The heatsink merely controls how they quickly they heat up. This one, the Carnifex, it's a shield breaker. Designed to overload kinetic barriers, packs a punch that'll knock a krogan back a step."

The bigger of the Cadians stiffened at the name of the weapon. His jaw clenched.

"Carnifex?"

"Yeah."

"Why is it named that?"

"It's Latin," Shepard answered. "Means _the butcher_."

"Latin?"

"An old language." Shepard shrugged. "Not used anymore except for spitting out fancy scientific names."

"Nothing to do with a creature?"

"...no…" The Normandy crew members exchanged puzzled glances. The name clearly had the man bothered. His posture began to slacken, to ease off. Kane opened his mouth as if to explain, but shut it instead, mouth clamped firmly shut. Whatever it was, he did not want to talk about it.

"Your magazines… how do you reload them?" Jacob pointed to one.

"Recharge," Brunson answered. "In the Guard we have recharging stations where the techpriests reconsecrate them and rearm them. In a pinch, they can be cooked on a heat source, but that degrades their quality and makes them prone to… exploding."

"Do you think we could recharge them? You just need a heat source?"

When Kane showed no inclination to answer, Brunson answered for the both of them. He was not entirely comfortable with the idea. "A specialized charging station would be ideal, but we have neither that nor techpriests. A stable power source should do the trick, I suppose."

Jacob looked to Shepard. The idea was forming in his head, and the Commander seemed to be drawing the same conclusion. "I could talk to our engineers, see if we can make a device for that. The Normandy draws power from a mass effect core. Cleanest energy that's ever been created. I think it might work."

"We can't stop you from trying." Kane shrugged. "Worst case scenario, it doesn't work. Best case, I have full combat load."

"How many shots do your magazines hold?"

"Depends on the weapon." Kane picked up one of his. "These hellgun powerpacks hold eighty shots standard. With adjustable settings, that can range as much as one hundred fifty to twenty five." He fell into thought for a moment. "Most I ever got out of a single pack was one hundred fifty three shots."

Jacob's mouth pursed in a contemplative frown. The question was obvious in his eyes. The lingering of his gaze on the weapons. Kane heard the incoming query before the words had even left the armorer's mouth.

"No."

Shepard and Jacob exchanged a short glance, confirming the Kasrkin's suspicion. Jacob pursued it anyways. The man had persistence. "Do you even know what I was going to ask?"

"You were of mind to study our weapons."

"Yes," he admitted. "The technology your carry would revolutionize our systems. It could give mankind weapon superiority and us an advantage against the Collectors."

Both of the Cadians stared at him, neither blinking or betraying their thoughts. The silence that followed was excruciating. Even Shepard shifted about on his feet. Slowly, painfully slowly, the Kasrkin raised his eyebrows just enough to indicate he was waiting for the second half of Jacob's idea. The part that was going to sit about as well as a varren in a salarian's hatchery.

"...but it could also potentially lead to an arms race between Council races, and future political concessions could include the trading of your technology. And I am sure you would not want the other races to have access to your weapons."

"That is correct." Kane started collecting his weapons, and Brunson did in his shadow. The possessiveness could not be mistaken as they accounted for their equipment and secured it. What they could not sling or holster they gathered in their arms. There was a stiffness in their postures that told the _Normandy's_ crew that the discussion was closed. No more talking to be had on the matter. Having seen the zeal with which they guarded themselves, Shepard and his armorer understood that it was useless to continue. Nothing they said could even broach the topic.

"Maybe, in time, I might share them with you." Kane gestured in their direction with the empty bolt pistol. "But I will not allow weapons forged in war and consecrated in the blood of the saints to be perverted by xenos touch."

"I thank you for your time then." Shepard tipped his head. "And I have to say, I am glad you are on our side."

The expression on Kane's face showed he planned to challenge that remark, to no doubt remind them all that he had not made a decision in that regard. Instead he swallowed his thoughts and offered a curt nod of acknowledgement.

 **-v-**

The bridge all stopped and stared as the Cadian entered the CIC. Twenty hours ago, they broke orbit to approach the relay station. The time for remembrance and honoring the dead had passed. Now, their course took them to Omega. The cesspit of the galaxy, the den of thieves and pirates. It was a lawless station in a lawless frontier. No Citadel authority, no mandates or laws. Survival of the fittest was all; survival of the strongest. Shepard found it strangely appropriate that this is where their path took them first. The Collectors did not fight fair. They did not fight according to rules and regulations. To fight that, they needed an edge. A place like Omega could very well gift them an edge. The mysterious time travelers already had something to offer, should they come around to it. But Shepard was not going to settle for anything less than the strongest hand possible. War was not won through half-measures and complacency. Shepard wanted the Collectors stopped. He wanted them dead.

It was not going to be easy. The most advanced vessel in the entire Citadel fleet had been shredded like paper against the Collector ship. This mission had no chance of success. It was going to take a miracle. They needed technology, intelligence, and manpower. To that latter end, the Illusive Man had offered a batch of carefully screened and rated candidates for this suicide run. Three persons of interest, all clustered together on the godforsaken pirate den. Finding them could take days, weeks, or if they were unlucky, forever.

Omega, unlike the rest of the civilized galaxy, had no central databases. It was lawless and out of control. Humans were few and far between, aliens were everywhere. The Cadians were not going to like it. He himself did not consider walking into a den of thieves, pirates, and bounty hunters to be a stellar plan. More than likely, he'd run into a few unfriendly faces that had grievances. And it wasn't as if he could pass entirely undetected. His face had been plastered all over Citadel space for years now. Anyone who set foot outside the _Normandy_ would have to be armed and wary.

To that end, he had busied himself with compiling shore party lists. Some of the crew would no doubt want to stretch their legs as well. They couldn't exactly go strutting about in Cerberus gear. That would invite trouble they could not afford. There was also the matter of figuring out how to gather as many of these men, and possibly women, as quickly as they could. To that end, he needed as many bodies as he could bring.

"Sergeant Kane." Shepard acknowledged him with a tilt of his head. Dropping one hand away from the holographic map, he indicated a point where Kane could approach. The ponderous clomp of the man's heavy boots seemed to echo through the CIC. His shadow drifted into the field, only to be washed out by an almost unnoticeable increase in light from one of the fixtures. It was the little things like that always had Shepard smiling. The subtlest details in technology that most everyone took for granted.

"How do you like the bridge?"

"Without having something to compare it to, it's a bridge."

"You never went on the bridge in any of the ships you traveled in?"

Kane snorted, showing his disdain for such an apparently ridiculous question. "Our ships are not small like this, Commander. It would take hours just to walk from the barracks to the command area. Not to mention only a few select persons are ever allowed on or near the bridge. It would be unthinkable for a mere soldier to set foot on the bridge."

Choosing to not continue that topic, Shepard merely shrugged. Yeoman Chambers stole his attention for a brief second, informing him that a message had arrived for him. The bubbly Yeoman's posture was antsy, straining at the leash to confront the Cadian and learn all about him. For now, Shepard had forbid her from engaging either of the men in prolonged conversation. He did not want her enthusiasm to cause trouble. Both men were closed off and suspicious. Too friendly and they might mistake her for something else. In the meantime she could watch and analyze.

The Cadian remained silent. Shepard realized he was waiting to be addressed. As much as the man had to be curious, he took certain protocols to heart. This one being to wait for the superior officer to explain why he had been summoned.

"We are entering the Omega system" Shepard expanded the map to show him. The man's violet eyes captured it all, devouring the map without a word. "This is our destination, an asteroid-turned-space-station called Omega. I have told you our mission; to complete it we need more bodies. My… employer, has found three. You should know it now, some of them are going to be non-humans."

The man's body went rigid. His jaw clenched so tight Shepard wondered if he would chip a tooth. But he said nothing, aware as he was of the multitude of crew members on the bridge. The bridge crew had been partially clued into the nature of the newcomers, though many knew little more than that they were outsiders. Only a handful knew the whole truth, although scuttlebutt would change that faster than Shepard could hope to quell it.

"Xenos, sir?" The words ground through the man's teeth like he was giving the order to have himself shot. A spark like flint danced in his eyes.

"Yes. Is that going to be a problem?"

"You are in charge, _sir_." That last part was more mutter than not. The muscles on Kane's neck twitched. "It is not my place to decide what you can and cannot do."

"That is not an answer."

"No," the Cadian confirmed. "It was not."

Again, Shepard chose to not comment. He had hoped the man would accept the decision. It appeared he had a lot to learn about how thoroughly ingrained and rigid his views were. Everything about this man was foreign. His thoughts, his equipment, his speech. It was immensely frustrating, and something that Shepard did not want to deal with in the middle of everything else. Fate, it seemed, had a particularly bad sense of humor. There was one easy way to start solving this issue. Direct confrontation. But not here, not in the CIC. This was an uncontrolled environment. It needed to be just him and Kane. Talking it out like men.

Turning from the helm, Shepard ordered Kelly to notify him if anything came up. Kane followed on his heel, understanding his role without having to be told. They stepped around behind the elevator and into the conference room. Once the door shut, Shepard turned to the man and allowed his scowl to show.

"Let's get something straight, Sergeant. I am not your commanding officer. You are not in my chain of command. You are a _guest_ on this ship."

"A guest that is constantly monitored by a damned intelligence that keeps reminding me it can vent the air from any room I am in.." Kane did not speak accusingly, merely stating the facts. Shepard nodded his agreement, attempting to keep his train of thought from being derailed by the simple and frank response.

"The crew is still acclimating to your arrival. By the time we reach Omega you should be able to walk freely."

"I am fully aware that I am a security risk to your vessel, Commander. My only concern is that of our status. When we arrive at this Omega, would be allowed to leave if we wanted to?"

"Do you want to leave?"

"That is not an answer."

"No." Shepard's mouth quirked in a small smile. "No it is not."

Kane's long pause and contemplative grimace showed he recognized his own words being spit back in his face. At least Shepard had a bit of good intention there.

"Does it matter? I certainly will not stop you from leaving, but you need to be handled delicately. I would be a fool to just let you and your weapons go prancing about in this galaxy. You'd be dead in days, your existence would stir controversy, and your weapons would fall into the wrong hands. Surely you can understand the enormity of the grey area we are in right now. I don't know whether to turn you over the Alliance, or to hide you here with us, or to announce you to the Council. You're from a time and place that is incompatible with what we have now. I have no idea what to do with you. But I do have a job to do, and if you are going to stick around here i could use you. You look and talk like a damn good soldier. Where I am going, I need the best. But if you choose to stay, you _will_ submit to my authority. We do not have the luxury of petty bickering and feuds on this run. We are going up against the strongest power in the galaxy. I need everyone's heads locked on straight and their attitudes aligned.

"I can fight with you." Kane took a seat, with Shepard's permission. Staring up at the Commander, he put his hands together and began counting with his fingers. "You are human. You represent the faction of humanity that is fighting for humanity. You are fighting a xenos threat that is preying upon mankind. I can stand behind that. I am a soldier. I need something to guide me. For now, this will work."

"And the others?"

"Corporal Brunson will follow my lead. He is young and less experienced than me. That makes him malleable." The Kasrkin grimaced. "I have a nagging feeling already that he will take to this new galaxy with more enthusiasm than is good for him. As for Commissar Blake, she is an entirely different matter. Your doctor said she is able to hear everything, perhaps. I will report everything to her, and I would advise you form a debriefing for her when she awakens."

Shepard registered the man's confident 'when' with some disbelief. Doctor Chakwas' private diagnosis had not been pretty. The girl had seen almost her entire chest cavity ripped to shreds. Every rib broken and mangled. Internal organs battered far beyond what even medigel was comfortable handling. The practical assessment was that _if_ she ever woke up, it would take years for her to recover her mobility and strength.

"Regardless, she is a Commissar," Kane continued. "The Commissariat are political officers. They are raised, like I was, in the Schola Progenium. Probably an orphan, and of a military heritage. They are trained to be enforcers of military law. You see, they don't exist in the chain of command. They attach to it. Commissars are assigned by the Commissariat wherever it is seen necessary. Their word is law, and they oversee the rules and regulations of the Guard. Specifically, they enforce the correct beliefs and teachings of the God-Emperor. They have full authority to execute offenders at reasonable doubt for heresy or disloyalty. They do not bend the rules."

"So she is going to be a problem?" Hearing this, he wondered if he even wanted her to wake up. Certainly, he did not wish her death, but if what Kane said was true, she would be a sure issue.

"You call it a problem. We call it integrity." Kane shrugged. "It won't be personal, you know. I believe you would call the term brainwashed. That we are raised from birth in the knowledge that xenos are evil and enemies of mankind. Those that don't get the message, don't last. I am willing to fight, because that is what I do. That is not what she does."

"Your _Schola_ sounds harsh." Shepard frowned at the thought. He was not so naive to say that humanity was above that sort of thing. Kaiden's stories about the BAaT probably could have compared. Children raised in cruelty and discipline to forge incredible warriors. "If she wakes up, I will want you by my side."

"That can be done." Kane nodded.

 **-v-**

Kane sat down next to Commissar Blake's bed and pulled out his personal dataslate. It was a simple thing, one he had been issued as the company sergeant for the Whiteshields. Good for little more than transcribing commands. That was all he needed. Over the past few days he had written down everything he heard and found about this new universe. He had decided to read it to her every day. If at least some of it would get through, that would be enough. Doctor Chakwas left them alone the first time, gave him the medbay so he could speak undisturbed. Sometimes she sat in though. Kane was not a storyteller. Even when alone with the Commissar, he found himself uncertain on how to proceed. But when the Doctor was there it was plain intimidating.

She made no overt show of listening in. Usually she was absorbed in her work. Kane only caught her watching once or twice, and that was always with an impartial, medical stare as if she was trying to read his mind. From time to time she would comment on what he said, correct something that was not quite right. Those times were almost relieving. The Doctor had a quick wit and a friendly demeanor. She had taken their arrival more or less in stride. In fact, she seemed quite pleased with them. It helped, he thought, that after the first rounds of vaccinations he had not complained any more as she came back the next day with more booster shots. His arms were a little sore from all the shots, but he understood the importance of it all. Even the Commissar was having the boosters put into her through an intravenous device.

When he spoke with the doctor she proved full of questions like all the others. But her questions were easy to answer; she asked about common life and medical practices and things like that. She tactfully avoided questions that would have caused irritation or regret. He appreciated how she picked her questions. Those were answers he could give without discomfort.

Today Kane regaled the Commissar with how he and Brunson had settled in. Trooper Brunson had been taken down to engineering at one point and instantly fell in love with the zero-core technology they had. He spent a lot of time down there. It had bothered Kane at first because the soldier loved it so much and because it separated them more than he liked. He hadn't found a niche on the ship yet. The battlefield was where he belonged. Kane hated ships, hated how useless he was on them. There was nothing for him to do, and that gave him far too much time to think.

That was why he spent so much time here, in the medical bay. He looked up from the dataslate and gazed at the Commissar's face. It was peaceful. The monitor beside the bed said that her mind was working right now. Whether that was subconscious or not he had no clue. But he hoped she could hear him.

"We need you to wake up" Kane told her. He set the dataslate down and leaned over the bed. Peeling one eyelid open, he stared at her violet eye. It twitched slightly. His shoulders sagged and he closed it. She probably couldn't hear him. "Damn it, Madam Commissar. We need you awake. I can't take care of both of you like this."

The door to the medbay opened and Doctor Chakwas strode in. Kane hastily sat back down and picked up his dataslate. Pretending nothing had happened, he went back to reading.

"How are you doing today, Sergeant?"

"I am healthy, ma'am." Kane turned off the dataslate and looked up at her. It was hard to guess her age. She was elderly, that much was certain. Her hair was silvery grey and her face lined with age. But the doctor still had a spry step and plenty of energy. She smiled softly and approached around the other side of the bed.

"She is showing improvement."

"Is she, ma'am?"

"Yes, though I expect it will still be some time before she stands a chance of waking up. The damage that, you called it a chainsword, inflicted is more traumatic than anything I have ever seen. Her survival is more a testament to her will to live than to medical science."

"What do you mean about her improvement?"

"She is slipping in and out of awareness more often. I think that, perhaps in a week, she might even be able to acknowledge you."

Kane's hopes soared with that. Standing, he patted the Commissar's arm and took a step back. "That is good."

"Don't just thank me" she said. "Thank Commander Shepard for realizing how badly she was injured and calling me down to the surface. If he hadn't she might not have survived."

"I've been listening to some of the crew's stories about your Commander. He sounds like a Star of Terra candidate, had he been alive in my time."

"A what?" She looked up at him in confusion.

"Star of Terra." Kane traced the symbol in the air with his hand. "Highest honor a Guardsman can receive. Takes a superheroic deed, the kind of thing people make legends about. Almost always awarded posthumously."

The doctor laughed. "Sergeant, you have no idea. We have a Star of Terra award of our own. It sounds remarkably similar. And Shepard has it."

Kane cocked his head to the side. "Every day I find more reasons to be confused by this time."

Slipping his dataslate into a cargo pocket, he bid farewell and headed out the door. As he walked he checked the chrono on his wrist. With Shepard's help, they had found the supplies to repair their uniforms. It had gone surprisingly well. He had fixed all the tears, and their cleaning agents and completely removed the blood, and even erased stains years older. His 'guard,' as he had come to call Jacob, looked up from his seat at one of the mess tables. Jacob nodded and closed his book. It was so odd to see a paperbound book on a ship with this much technology. It was odd to see a paperbound book at all.

"How's she doing?"

"Living." Kane waited for him to get up. "So what's the plan now?"

"Well, we're entering range of the Extranet satellites, so if you wanted I could give you a console to work on."

"The Commander has mentioned that before. What is the Extranet?"

"Internet." When Kane showed no recognition, Jacob sighed. "Sending and receiving messages, check the news, and all that stuff. It's about as good as an introduction as we can give you before we get to Omega. We've got, fourteen hours maybe. Better than nothing."

Kane followed him to the starboard observation lounge. A small bank of consoles lined one side. Jacob turned one on and handed him a large pad of paper and a couple pens. "In case you want to take notes."

After showing Kane some of the basic functions he said goodbye and stepped out. Kane found himself alone, with an open console and no supervision. You could never find this much trust on an Imperial vessel. Then again, Kane hardly had the technical know-how to exploit the situation.

The first thing Kane did was look up Commander Shepard. His Alliance military profile was slim and heavily classified. He saw nothing new there. Backing out from the Alliance Systems, he ran a check on his name through what he assumed were the less official realms of the Extranet. A news broadcast called Battlespace had a special on him. It had multiple specials on him, actually. The one that drew his attention was about an incident called the Skyllian Blitz. It had taken place on a planet known as Elysium. Kane immediately cross-referenced the planet with a galactic map. Not the same one that existed in his time. Back to the Blitz.

Elysium had been a colony world, a fairly new one at that. Less than a century old. Kane could not imagine a colony that young in his own time. There were certainly colonies that young in his time, but they would be few and far between. This Elysium had been attacked by a race known as the batarians. Shepard had mentioned them once before. They were the closest thing to a race of purely evil aliens as he would be able to find, according to the naive Commander. Slavers, pirates, drug dealers, and scum like that. They had descended on the world without notice, attempting to not only take slaves, but to destroy the entire colony. Commander Shepard had been there, on leave. When the batarians struck, he rallied some defenders and fought back. He took a stand by a shelter full of non-combatants and held off the batarians for five hours before reinforcements arrived. For that, he was awarded the Star of Terra.

If that was all it took, the Imperial Guard would have ten billion saints leading them to war.

There was no official count, but Battelspace estimated that he had slain thirty batarians and destroyed three vehicles. The report made him sound like some badass commando. There was no footage to prove otherwise. The number sounded reasonable. Kane investigated the report and corroborated news stories for a good while before backing out and checking out the other major report on him.

The Eden Prime War. It happened almost three year ago. A rogue Spectre named Saren had led a gigantic Geth assault fleet against the Citadel. The attack had been repulsed with heavy casualties among both Citadel and Alliance fleets. The losses were responsible in part to the presence of an enormous Geth dreadnought called the Sovereign. It had weapons and shields that outclassed anything that had been seen before. They finally took it down on top of the Citadel, after devastating casualties to all fleets. And the entire Geth invasion fleet had been destroyed. When everything was said and done, humanity had won a place on the Council. Alliance military forces had claimed that Shepard alerted them to the impending attack, thus they were able to muster two fleets to reinforce the Citadel fleet and win the day.

Kane skimmed through the other smaller reports. The battle of Eden Prime itself. Shepard's induction into the ranks of the Spectres. His death above the planet Alchera when the SR-1 was destroyed. The rumors about his return and his involvement with Cerberus. Almost every incident showered him with praise. Even one journalist he found had started off with fairly negative reports about him, but after a few interviews had nothing but glowing praise for him.

When he exhausted Shepard's stories he searched for the Geth. The information he found made him nervous. Virtual Intelligence hive mind with physical bodies. The xenos race known as quarians designed them for slave labor. Then the Geth grew too intelligent and nearly wiped the quarians out of existence. For a long, long time they had hid in their sector of space. Since the Eden Prime War they had been sending out excursions in increasing numbers. They were a menace to all organic life, alien and human. And they had advanced weaponry compared to the modern galaxy.

A slight hiss warned him that he was not alone. The Normandy's executive officer strode in with her attention buried in her omnitool. She reached the console next to his before noticing she did not stand alone in the room. Her expression soured as she locked eyes with Kane. Kane calmly clicked out of the article and greeted her.

"Ma'am."

She scowled and moved one more console over. "I did not realize we were letting you move around unattended."

"Officer Taylor brought me in. I thought he would have been waiting outside."

"He was not." She sniffed and looked at his screen. "What are you looking into?"

"Anything that will help me get a better head for this place. Your Commander has quite a legend behind him."

"He has earned it, many times over. I would go so far as to say I trust him even when what he does makes no sense."

Kane ignored the pointed nature of her statement. "We have people like you back in the Guard. Political officers, like Commissar Blake. Can't trust a soul and would rather die than smile. You may not be happy with the situation at hand, but I can assure you, I am even less thrilled about this than you are. That does not mean that I will sit by and endure the snark of a genetically-enhanced freak."

The glower she gave was all he needed as answer. Returning his attention to the screen, he began searching for the place Shepard had called Omega. The information settled like a spoiled nutrient paste in his stomach. An asteroid-turned-haven filled with xenos, pirates, thugs, gangs, and every possible criminal organization. The worst part was the xenos. The more Kane read, the more he had the feeling they would be a very small minority on the asteroid. Enemies all around them. No allies to be found. It would be a godless rock. The moral threat to his soul would be testing.

After a few minutes of searching he glanced over at Miranda. She was concentrating heavily on the console and making a show of ignoring him. It struck him as odd, and a little childish. Here Kane was thinking she was some intelligent, opinionated woman with a stick up her ass. Maybe he had overestimated her. Maybe she was just a petulant noblewoman with a lifetime of being slaved over.

"You know you can't keep pretending we don't exist."

"Who said I was pretending you didn't exist?"

She blinked slowly and continued typing away. Kane chuckled despite myself.

"You're the ship's executive officer. Don't you have your own console?"

"If you must know." The words ground out of her as if forced. "My console is uniquely coded to my personal signature. Cerberus is an agency that values intelligence over all. User logins are tagged and recorded. I am able to bypass the security systems of course, but that takes time and effort. It is sometimes simpler to use a generic login on a generic computer for things that I do not need kept hidden from prying eyes."

"Your organization doesn't even trust its leadership. That helps explain why mankind is so incompetent." Kane leaned towards her to try and steal a glance at her work. He had a general idea of what she was talking about, but only just. Whatever it was she was working on, she closed out of the screen before he could mark anything of interest. Didn't need kept hidden, his ass. So this was how she was going to be. Blowing smoke out her pipes in every conversation. He'd suffered through worse officers.

"Do you have a question?" Her growl set the hairs on the back of his neck to standing.

"So many" Kane replied. Pushing back from the desk, he gave her a long look. "Can I ask you one, no bullshit?"

The grunting huff she made could have been exasperation or infuriation. Kane could never get the two straight. Often they were mixed together. She closed her console and turned to face him. Her arms crossed defensively over her chest. He took that as a yes.

"What is it about us that makes you so… disapproving? You seem to be the only one of your crew that has a problem with our presence."

"My problem, is it?" She tilted her head just slightly. It gave her an unforgiving, ice-cold expression. "Or maybe that in itself is the problem. Shepard is taking your arrival too calmly, without question. If I were in charge you would be locked in quarantine until we could drop you off at a base to be studied and interrogated."

"And you consider us to be that much of a threat to you?"

Her deadpan delivery fit her nickname of the 'Ice Queen' that he had heard muttered by some of the crew. "You are something we cannot quantify. There is no scientific test to confirm your story, so we have to take it all on your word and on the assumption that your weapons are not from a top secret research program. For all we know, you are part of some mercenary gang. Or something worse. Maybe you work for the Collectors. Maybe they gave you this advanced technology. Whichever it is, the odds are unlikely that such a program would have escaped my notice. I do not like things I do not know."

"Is that all?" Kane chuckled dryly. "Are you sure you've got enough assumptions, there?"

"Your story raises more assumptions that I would care to ponder" she spat back. "And every minute you spend on this ship is another minute I worry that Shepard might be wrong about you. While I find it entirely probable, at this point, that you are indeed from the… future, that is no guarantee that you are telling the truth about anything else you have said so far."

An approving grimace eased onto his face. "See, that is all I needed to know."

The _Normandy's_ executive officer frowned. "Is it?"  
"I was curious if your attitude was mere petulance at no longer being the center of attention, or a trained response to the unknown. Yours is the latter." He resumed scrolling through the news feed. "Which means you are the most prominent threat on the ship."

"What?" Nothing about her face showed interest or amusement.

"If I decided to do anything, just be sure I'd kill you first. The suspicious ones are the first to react, first to defend. Figure I'd put a round in your skull, while you're sleeping, now that I know where your room-"

The next thing Kane knew he was picking himself up off the floor. The salty taste of blood filled his mouth. Kane blinked hard in surprise, stunned by the blast. He hadn't even seen her move. Miranda was standing over her knocked-back chair. Purple fire danced around her hands. He froze where he crouched, blood curdling in his veins. A psyker. A thrice-damned psyker. Shepard hadn't told him there were psykers aboard the vessel. He hadn't thought to ask. And placed in such a position of power. No wonder the crew was terrified of her.

"Witch!" Kane's fists clenched and he lunged towards her. A purple ball of energy arced out and slammed straight into his chest. It threw him backward into the wall. His ribs compressed so badly he thought they would crack, but the pressure eased at just the right moment. Still, he could hardly breathe. Stumbling down to his knees, he gasped for breath and wiped blood from his mouth. "Fracking. Psyker. Witch. I'm going to put you in the ground where you belong!"

Drawing his combat bayonet from his boot, Kane hurled it at her even as he rose to charge. Her eyes went wide and she dodged to the side. The blade missed her. By the time she recovered her balance he barreled into her and sent them both flying to the ground. He had thought his superior size would have flattened her. It didn't. She rolled with their momentum and used his weight to flip him over her head. Grabbing a firm handhold of her bodysuit, Kane jerked her along and she was lifted into the air and sailed into one of the console chairs. There was an audible cracking sound, and a pained cry struck out from the scrambling tangle of black-and-white clad limbs.

"I am going to take your head off" Miranda snarled as she picked herself up off the floor. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth. Her nose was badly bruised, possibly broken. Left arm bent at an odd angle. Kane could feel his own shoulder hanging loose from dislocation. Multiple ribs broken, most likely. Ankle twisted something bad. Damn, she had a punch. He hadn't met a psyker this tough before. Those genetic enhancements were something else.

Purple fire flared from her eyes and hands. Knowing he only had a moment, he pushed off and dove to the side. The ball of energy exploded on the floor with a whining crack. She drew back and began to form another ball, but then Kane was on her. A stretched right hook sent her reeling. Following it up with a kick to her stomach, Kane grabbed for her hair and threw her down on her face. Before she could recover he straddled her. His arms locked around her throat in a chokehold that she couldn't break if she had an Ogryn's strength. "Lights out, bitch."

Her body stiffened for a moment as she realized her position. Kane heard a breathless gasp, then she began throwing her elbow into his side. Each blow hit with the force of a hammer. Her strength continued to surprise him. This wasn't ordinary human strength. Another rib cracked, and Kane realized he wouldn't choke her out before she finished crushing his side. This woman was a monstrosity. Changing tactics, he braced his arm to twist and snap her neck cleanly.

Then two sets of arms grabbed him by the shoulder and hurled him backwards. One followed him, slammed a forearm into his chest to pin him to the ground, using the other hand to shove a pistol barrel in his face. Jacob Taylor's scowl hovered just above it. "Stand down, Kane! Don't move a goddamn muscle!"

He couldn't see much else, but he heard the Normandy's executive officer heaving for breath. Shepard was in the room, Kane recognized his voice. But he couldn't hear any words over the pounding in his ears. Blood rushing through his skull. Oh, he was in pain. His side had not fully healed yet from the beating it had taken on Cadia. And this had made it much worse. He was going to be limping away from this one.

"Kane!" Shepard stormed into view, sidearm drawn, but not leveled at him. There was deadly serious intent in the Commander's eyes. Now was the time to lay still. He was outnumbered and outgunned. Throne, he needed to lay still anyhow. His breathing was ragged and it hurt to move his neck. His eyes watered, blurring his vision. "Jesus, Kane. What the hell happened here?"

"You did not tell me you had psykers on this ship." The word dripped like oil from his lips. Slurred, like oil. At some point in the fight he had bitten his tongue pretty badly.

To his credit, Commander Shepard only showed his confusion for the barest moment. A flicker of hesitation, surprise. Did the man not know about the devil that walked on his ship? The man glanced from Kane to the executive officer. Something that might have been embarrassment clouded his face, and he holstered his weapon. That seemed to be the signal for Jacob, though the armorer did so with less enthusiasm. Left his arm on Kane's neck, pinning him to the floor.

"What is a psyker? Are you talking about our biotics?"

"I am talking about psykers. Abominable witches that draw strength from the Ruinous Powers. Power like that bastard has at her fingertips."

Officer Lawson bristled at the comment, a glare flashing across her eyes. She pulled her hand down from her bloody nose long enough to spit a thick blob of blood out of her mouth. Her own murderous glare must have been reflected in his own. This was not over, not by a long shot.

"You're talking about her biotics? That's hardly a… whatever you called it." Shepard patted Jacob on the shoulder. "Half our crew is biotic. It's pure science. They aren't exactly common, but they're not rare either."

He listened to that, wondered what the hell Shepard was talking about. "You're saying it isn't witchcraft? That purple fire?"

"No, it's not." Shepard shook his head. "What, you people have magic in the future? Get up. Jacob, let him be. He isn't going to be going anywhere quickly."

The armorer eased off the pressure, that scowl etched permanently on his face like someone had taken a saw to it. Taking a few steps back, he retreated to Miranda's side and checked on her while Kane gingerly eased up to a sitting position. That simple effort made his head spin. It would be a while for him to walk this one off. He looked up at Commander Shepard, but the ship captain silenced him with a gesture.

"Kane, don't say a damn word. I guess I should have mentioned it earlier. With all that's been going on, it slipped my mind. But that doesn't excuse a thing. You," he rounded on his executive officer. "You are the executive officer on this ship. It is your job to make sure things run smooth. I was told you are a competent officer, cool-headed, intelligent. Where was any of that in… this? Go see Chakwas, then consider yourself confined to quarters until I come talk to you. Jacob, get her there; make sure she's alright."

Miranda Lawson's scandalized expression betrayed how thoroughly shocked she was at everything that had just occurred. Like a man just woken up from his dreamwalking to find himself with trousers down in the Commissar's tent. Disbelief conveyed itself at the Commander's orders, but she voiced her assent and allowed Jacob to help her limp out of the room. The hatch clicked behind them, leaving them in sudden silence. After the brawl and the shouting, the utter quiet unnerved Kane. It felt as if the ship was dead in the void. It set him one edge, made him look for the nearest escape boats.

Choosing not to say anything yet, Shepard strode over to the notepad beside the console. A frown crossed his face for several moments as he tried to read Kane's notes. Perhaps the translator could not interpret that. Well, this intelligence only knew their own cryptogrophy. Gothic was entirely foreign to them. That was good to know. He could still maintain some secrets.

Rather than make the Commander guess, Kane decided to satiate his curiosity. It was hardly confidential, after all. He was using their systems. The damn intelligence they had onboard could probably datamine his searches in the blink of an eye.

"I was researching you. And these abominable intelligences called the _Geth_. It appears that mankind is barreling headfirst into its own destruction in your time. Tinkering with intelligence programs, enduring diplomacy with xenos. I cannot see how mankind survived beyond this period."

"One thing I've learned," Shepard said, resting his hip on the counter, "is to never underestimate humanity. We pull through the toughest shit by pure determination and stubbornness."

"That, we can agree on." Kane eased himself into a chair. He should probably go see the medicae when they were done here.

"EDI alerted me the instant you two started fighting. What happened, Kane?"

The Kasrkin spent a moment wondering how to answer. Truth was the easy answer. Shepard could probably tell if he was lying anyways. And it wasn't as if he had anything to hide. Or to be ashamed of. So he went with the truth. Honesty was hardly a vice. And his pride was not at stake.

"We were discussing her opinion of myself and the others. Words were exchanged, escalating in nature." A small grimace tugged at his lips. "I may have crossed the line."

The Commander's expectant stare begged for more, but Kane had nothing else to say. No excuses, no reasoning as to why. He had made a choice and he knew full well what had come of it. When he said nothing further, Shepard almost reacted favorably. A slight easing of the judgemental glare. A hint of approval.

"So you started it?"

"Physically, no. She struck first. As far as who initiated the conflict, I would say we are equally at fault. I do not expect your people to trip over themselves playing the gracious host, nor do I even expect any friendliness from any of you. I am… used to a time when everyone is treated with suspicion. This concept is new to your kind, or rare, I would guess. The things that I consider ordinary your executive officer considered unforgivable. I still do not trust you and yours, Commander. Hospitality is not a thing to be taken at face value in my experience. I am a threat to your ship. Myself and my companions are dangerous unknowns. You are taking great faith to allow us to remain free."

"A decision that I am reconsidering," Shepard said pointedly. His mask slipped for a bare moment. There was fury simmering behind his stoic face. Understandable. One of his crew had been endangered because of a choice he had made. Good officers took full responsibility for their actions. It looked like this one did too. That was good; he could respect that. Kane nodded, conceding the point.

"Regardless, Officer Lawson has been spoiling for a fight since we met. It would have come to a head eventually."

"Correct me if I am wrong, but it looked like you were trying to snap her neck."

"I thought she was a witch. That's what we do with witches."

"Snap their necks?"

Kane's expression darkened. "We kill them."

"Good thing she's not a witch then. She's a biotic."

"I don't know what that means." He paused, thinking. When it hit him, the simple realization that he had completely overlooked in his surprise, he let loose a short, bitter laugh. Commander Shepard cocked an eyebrow, silent but curious. Of course. It was so incredibly easy. How had he missed it? He had missed it because his head was still spinning from the newness of this time. Everything was so different and strange. At some level he was operating on pure instinct.

"What's so funny?"

"It's funny, you know. These biotics, as you call them, I don't know what they are, but they are certainly different from psykers. From what I have been reading, your time doesn't even know what the Warp is, much less have the ability to draw power from it. I don't know if it has not been discovered by mortals, or has faded so far that it does not interfere with the mortal realm. But your officer, she is not a psyker. I can see that now that the blood isn't flowing. Had she been a psyker, it would have gone much differently."

"She would have kicked your ass?"

"No." Kane shook his head. "The Warp is a realm that defies explanation. I have read learned men that claim it is a reality founded on pure emotion and terror. Daemons fill it, swim in its currents. Psykers draw power from the Warp, tap into its limitless energy. With the power of the Warp they can attain feats that no mortal man could. But that power comes with a price. Daemons prey on those who touch the Warp. Possession is a constant risk. But many fallen souls deem the risk acceptable."

"So she would have been more powerful? But that would have made the fight easier?"

He sighed softly, wondering how to explain it. "In my time, perhaps one in one billion souls are cursed with the power to interact with the Warp. Whether consciously or not. I am sure you are familiar with the True Laws of Nature? For every positive, there is a negative. For every good, bad. For power, weakness. For those that touch the Warp, there are those that repel the Warp."

"Like an anti-psyker?"

"Essentially." Kane tapped his chest. "I am one. No scholar in the Imperium even knows how rare my kind are. Perhaps on in a billion billion. Where one can find many psykers on a Hive world, one might find only a single Untouchable, as we are called, in an entire sector of space. We not only are resistant to the powers of the Warp, but we suffocate them. If I stood in a room with a psyker, the psyker would be pissing itself silly, not to mention unable to manifest any of its power."

"So you are a neutralizer."

"Yes."

"But you didn't neutralize Miranda's biotics."

"No."

Shepard offered an exasperated glare, a harsh reminder that Kane should have noted the discrepancy immediately. He was a professional soldier. Military instinct and response had been drilled into him since he could walk. If he were on top of his mind, there would have been no hesitation, no confusion. He had fucked up. That was his first mistake with these people. It might be his last. "I owe Officer Lawson an… apology."

"That's up to you," Shepard said. "You're an adult. I am not going to do you the disservice of ordering you to. But I am telling you this, now. If you lay a hand on one of my crew again, I will put a bullet in you and throw you headfirst out the airlock. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Kane flicked a hand towards the door, seeking permission. Commander Shepard nodded, stepping to the side to clear the way.

"Go get yourself patched up. Miranda gave you a hell of a beating."

"She's got fire in her. Those biotics, they make you stronger?"

"That is one way to use them, yes."

"Hm." Kane rolled his neck. "Effective. She had a punch like an Ogryn."

They stepped out towards the elevator. Halfway there, the doors opened and Yeoman Chambers stepped out with Corporal Brunson. They were focusing on the Yeoman's wrist-mounted cogitator, the glowing thing with orange lights. Brunson glanced up at the sound of boots and nearly missed a step as he recognized his superior. Snapping to attention, he threw a salute that went unnoticed by the Yeoman, who almost bumped into Commander Shepard.

"Sergeant Kane."

"Corporal."

"Woah." Kelly Chambers looked him up and down, eyes wide with wonder as she took in the bruising and blood. "What happened to you?"

"Training exercise" Kane and Shepard said at the same time. An awkward silence settled between the four. Brunson did not bother hiding his disbelief. No Cadian would ever mistake the difference between a training bruise and a fight bruise. Nutrient paste to grox steak. If the man wanted to find the real answer, he could ask later. The Yeoman did not seem to be able to tell the difference. She accepted their answer with a nod.

"You guys don't pull punches, do you? Kyle here was telling me all about the training you guys went through. It sounds awful."

"Probably. I don't have something to compare it to." Kane shrugged. "If you don't mind, I have to go get patched up. Figure this will really start hurting in about five minutes when the shock wears off."

Accepting his excuse, they stepped to the side and allowed him to enter the elevator. Shepard gave him a stern look and a reminder to go see the medicae. As if that wasn't on the top of his list of things to do.

 **-v-**

Officer Lawson had the bed next to the unconscious commissar. Kane strode in, having about two seconds before the ship's medicae marched him to the last bed on the row. He tried to not stare, but it amazed him how similar the two were. Even in the Commissar's unconscious state, their similar poise was apparent. For a brief moment he toyed with the question as to whether or not this officer was some far distant ancestor of the Commissar. Even if, he dismissed the thought. Those sort of thoughts would only give him a headache, and in the vast span of time any genetics markers would be unrecognizable.

Even more distracting, drawing his mind away from the pain, was Officer Lawson herself. She had stripped her bodysuit to the waist, exposing a wonderfully-sculpted body with finely-toned muscles and an impressive bust hidden behind a lace black bra that did not belong anywhere but in a joy-house. The touch of femininity clashed with her cold and brusque demeanor. Kane allowed himself a moment to admire, while she wasn't looking. Her physique was perfect. Almost like someone had taken a heroic statue and brought it to life.

He endured several minutes of silence while the medicae finished applying medigel and bandages to the officer. Chakwas did not even give him a spare glance. With nothing better to do, he shifted his position to face away from them and studied the room. Again, he marvelled at how clean and bright it was. This ship was almost a polar opposite of Imperial vessels. It was so much smaller, but somehow felt more open than the dark halls of an Imperial spacecraft. Most likely it was the light and the furnishing. Things were smaller here, and less intrusive.

Knowing that he would have to do it eventually, Kane eased off his shirt and set it beside him. His side screamed in protest at the unwanted effort, already showing dark purple bruising of broken ribs. Re-broken. She had gotten him in the same spot. Damn, if that had been intentional, she had a good head on her shoulders in the heat of the moment. Combat might not have been her primary role, but she was good at it.

When Chakwas finished with her, Miranda slipped her bodysuit back over her shoulders and limped out of the medbay with a good show of haughty disdain. Despite the strained breath and soreness, she stubbornly refused to acknowledge the damage he had inflicted. The more time he spent around her, the more Kane convinced himself that she was the closest thing to familiar on this damned ship. The disdain, the mistrust, the aggression. A hint of home in a foreign world. Maybe that was why she riled him.

Not content to let him merely patch himself up and go, the medicae attacked his side with a vengeance. Her irritation at the whole situation bled through her clipped words as she swabbed his side, berated him for his foolishness, applied a layer of medigel to his skin, then ordered him to sit tight while she prepared the machine for an MRI. She spent close to an hour in prep, cleaning the wound, pushing him into the decontamination shower, having him change into a flimsy examination gown, then sitting impatiently while she tinkered with a machine that had a hole maybe just big enough for him to fit in.

"This is going to be a tight squeeze" she informed him as he laid down on the table, a hint of a smirk hiding behind her clinically neutral expression. "Try and not lose your head."

The machine descended on him, bathing him in a warm yellow light. The medicae wasn't lying. Both sides pressed into his arms, squeezing him so tight he couldn't move once they clamped down onto the table, creating an airtight seal that left him utterly helpless. His world shrank into about two finger's distance, all the space between his head and the machine. He couldn't even see past his chest. A buzzing sound similar to a flock of flies filled his ears, interrupted by a rhythmic, obnoxious clicking. Accompanying each click was a pulse of light that traveled the length of the tube. The disorienting combination of sound and light, coupled with his loss of peripheral vision, ruined his sense of time. He tried counting, but lost track. Time passed. Throne only knew how much time.

And then the machine gave a final cry, and the sides detached from the bed with a clang. It retreated back to the ceiling, arms poised like a spider about to trap its prey. The ship medicae sat at her desk, attention switching between two screens that looked to be displaying similar content.

"You survived" she murmured, more the herself than to him. Kane waited for her to give permission to reclothe himself. "Most people have a hard time going in the tube, their first time, at least."

"I've been through worse." Kane cracked his neck and slipped off the table. "You never explained what that machine does."

"Magnetic Resonance Imaging. The machine creates detailed imaging of your internal systems, one layer at a time. Here." She gestured to the screen. Kane stepped over and examined it with interest. It certainly looked like the inside of a human body. Except the coloring reminded him of thermal imaging systems. And if those were ribs… oh. Three broken ribs. Well, two broken and one just… that explained why it hurt so much.

"That is impressive."

"You don't have technology like this?" The medicae gave him a dubious look. "In the far off realm of science fiction mankind?"

"Maybe. I've never heard of anything like this. But I'm a soldier. We don't have access to luxury technologies."

"This is hardly luxurious."

"For you, maybe."

"I assume I would hate to see your advanced medical facilities."

"No one likes going to medical." Kane gingerly tapped his side. "So, what are we doing about this?"

"As I said yesterday, I am going to have to insert medigel directly into your chest cavity. Since you are so lucky to not have an entry wound, the only option is a large needle."

"Lovely." He grunted. "Sure you can't just put a bullet in my head and spare me the misery?"

She chuckled, amused. "Bothered by needles, are we?"

"Only when the word 'large' is placed before them."

Rising from her chair, she motioned for him to follow her back to the table. "Unfortunately, your side has been shredded internally. The broken bits of bone have been wreaking havoc on the muscles and flesh, as well as having come close to piercing your liver and kidney. My two options are to crack you open like a bad egg and remove everything, a process which I assure you will hurt you much more than it will hurt me, or I can rely on the magical properties of medigel to piece you back together."

"I think I'll go with option number two."

"I thought you would see reason. Lie down and lift up your… on second thought, put your trousers on first."

He did, then eased back onto the bed. Maybe it was pure psychological, but now that he had seen what was going on in his side, it felt like it hurt a lot more. A hell of a lot more. Compared to this, what could a needle possibly make him-

"Frack me" he growled, eyes widening just a hair as the medicae removed a large-bore needle from its vacuum-wrap.

"Don't be such a sissy, Sergeant. You know full well that you deserve this. Getting in a fight so soon after receiving an injury. I swear, I am surrounded by hopeless idiots on this ship. Don't even get me started on Commander Shepard and his penchant for sprinting from one gunfight to the next."

She stood over him, needle poised to puncture his chest. That not-quite-smirk returned. "As I said, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me. Will it help if I count to three?"

Kane closed his eyes and waited.

"On-"

Reaching up to grab her hand, he plunged the needle into his chest without ceremony. The impact stunned him, the screeching pain of having a stiletto-sized needle piercing through his torso left him breathless.

"Damn it, Kane!" She shot him a stern look, the kind that normally was followed by a flogging at the Schola. "This is a needle, not a damned sword. You could have broken it."

"Did I?" He struggled to keep his voice even, jaw clenched tight to hold in a little scream of pain.

"No, thank God. You didn't. Now stop helping and let me be a doctor." Her words dissolved into a string of muttered grumbling. Kane wasn't listening anymore. Between the aching in his side and the needle in his chest, he was having to fight to stay conscious. A dim part of his mind registered the sudden flow of cold liquid being pumped into his chest. It was ice-cold, tightening his chest and freezing his organs. Breathing grew hard as his lungs strained to function.

Then the needle withdrew, squeezing out of his chest with a sucking pop. Doctor Chakwas nodded to herself and went to dispose of the needle while Kane fought to steady his breathing. This medigel was frigid; his lungs ached from the unexpected chill.

"There. That should fix the majority of the damage within the next two days. I am going to tell you now, so you cannot complain later, that you should absolutely avoid more fighting or strenuous activities until that time has passed. That being said," she sighed. "Shepard has us docking at Omega, so I am certain that fighting and strenuous activities are all that is in store for you."

"You think that he is going to let me on that station?"

"Of course he will. Shepard is a hopeless romantic and an eternal optimist." The medicae held up a warning finger. "Do not tell him I said that. And I expect that you will try to behave yourself."

"I believe you and I have different meanings behind that word."

"Unfortunately." She made a face and motioned for him to get his clothes. "You are all taken care of. Be on your way. I am going to run a few more tests on your… commissar? Her blood-work is quite intriguing."

"What, with thousands of years of antibodies and evolution?"

"I'm surprised you even know what those are." She shook her head. "No, there are subtle markers in her blood that indicate something more than natural. Almost as if she was experimented on, and the chemical trails were not quite expunged."

"Experimented on?"

"Is that unheard of in your time?"

"No." Kane shrugged. "Just usually not on people like her."

"Well, I am quite fascinated with whatever is going on inside her. Do not fear, I am merely siphoning a few drops of blood from the plasma-fuser. Not nearly enough to risk any harm to her."

"I guess I have to take your word on that."

"Yes," she replied, a sour smile creasing her face. "You do."


	4. Meeting the Queen

**Author's Notes:**

 **If the chapter is all in bold, check your settings and make sure you are in desktop mode.**

 **First off, going to clarify a few things for the readers, since a couple issues have arisen:**

1) Why Kane? Why not Louk Shannegh? Why not someone else? Why not a goddamn Space Marine fleet with Mechanicus exploratory crews and ten Inquisitors with retinue and a whole ordo of Sisters of Battle? Because Kane already existed in previous stories and I started this story YEARS ago. Literally as simple as that.

2) How is he alive/kasrkin/etc... while still an Untouchable? The answer is incredibly simple (and it will be fully fleshed out in later chapters). Cadians don't waste resources. They live on the flipping border of the Eye of Terror (still do. Fall of Cadia was prepubescent-fan-written-bullshit fluff. There were a hundred ways Cadia could have fallen and made more sense, been a better story). They can't afford to waste resources, nor would they ever choose to. That being said, there is a reasonable explanation why he made it through the Schola Progenium without being snatched out for special duties. If you've read the other Kane stories, he's a special snowflake among special snowflakes. He has a limited degree of control over his Blank-ness. To a degree, he can hide it. He's not some super powerful Blank. He just is one. Just like some psykers aren't terribly powerful. And he may have had help.

3)On the note of Blanks. Most of the reviews here are caught up on the assumption that each and every Blank is an XBOXHUGE black hole of death and despair in the otherwise vibrant playground of the Warp. That's not even remotely accurate if you have read ANYTHING regarding Blanks in actual books. The lore on Warhammer wiki is incredibly skin-deep and incomplete. If you read books that have Blanks (anything Dan Abnett, for example) Blanks have varying levels of psychic repulsion. Some of them literally just make people uncomfortable. Others can murder psykers by simply walking up to them. See 2), Kane is more of the former.

4) How can a Blank get sucked into the Warp in the first place? Probably because the Warp is an infinite plane of infinite energy, and when all that is unleashed on a specific point of space-time, it doesn't matter what or who or why something is there. A waterproof phone won't stay dry if the entire Pacific ocean drops on it in one go. That being said, they do get spat out... which would apply the same theory of Warp takes a bite, chews on it, spits it out. Blanks are not unlimited anti-warp machines. In the Dan Abnett Ravenor books (which I refer to because he is one of the only competent authors that wrote for GW from the pre-2010 period), the Blank in that story gets his powers burnt out/through by being around the psyker kid. Over time, his ability is worn down and entirely removed. Just like a psyker can have their abilities drained and removed.

5)On the note of ME characters response to having an Untouchable on board and why they are not responding accordingly: First, If a tree falls i nteh woods, does it make a sound? Blanks are an absence in the Warp. If he lands in a reality where there is no Warp, or the Warp is infinitesimally less powerful/connected, would people really notice? I mean, he's an asshat to be sure, but the thing he is absent of is... absent as well? Maybe. It's like if you bring that Harry Potter device that steals light from street lamps into the middle of the woods. It has nothing to steal from... that being said, MAYBE there is a reason why the ordinarily-super-composed Miranda Lawson is so antsy about Kane, and why she so easily threw down with him the computer lab, which was very uncharacteristic for canon Miranda Lawson. Subtlety isn't just a word, you know.

 **To the Reviewers:**  
 **Interested Guest- I really wish I knew where the spam-splat was coming from. Haven't read a single word of it yet. I wouldn't say there is typical romance going on between the two, but I did miss my chance of a Tsundere moment in TWiF, apparently. So...  
Edboy4926- I have seen a few other fics take that route where _ardat yaksi_ are possessed or straight daemons, but I'm not going there. This ME setting is extremely Warp-calm. Limited to no daemon influence.  
coduss- If you are expecting consistency in an Imperial citizen's beliefs, you're in for a bad time. Kane's a pretty bog-standard 40k human in this story. Everything that he knows is what he was taught in state-church, the Schola, and things he's seen on the field. Space Marines don't count, because they are made by the God-Emperor. Although, he does think they are assholes.  
dekuton- Yup. Koolaid is the Imperium's favorite beverage. And a child-brainwashed-killing-machine-murder-hobo has all sorts of indoctrination in his system.  
Abaddon953- Being a Blank isn't entirely useless, though I admit it has lost its primary purpose. But, there are other things in the ME galaxy that prey upon the souls and lifeforce of sentients...  
grey- Guardsmen Bestmen  
turoo- See 5) above.  
Guest- Kane did go through the Schola, and Cadians are known for being incredibly tough, psychologically, so it would stand to reason he would know more than most people, even most Guardsmen. And Kasrkin specifically are written in any and all books as being abnormally informed and unimpressed by everything they run into. (Cadian Blood, I think, has a line where a Kasrkin sees a Chaos Titan coming in on his position and just grunts "gonna be a long week")  
Guest 2- See above notes  
kukuhimanpr- This chapter is the setup for all kinds of Warhammer goodness on Omega. It's gonna be a blast (hint hint)  
AngryNightingale- Coincidence, the tabletop game is my cocaine. Been AWOL from editing and writing because of 8th edition.  
Disciple of Ember- I am fairly certain there is a pic on the internet somewhere of a techpriest Miranda Lawson I saw. Blam-happy. I love that term. Kane is going to be a powerful fighting force in this, but it's that whole balance of different weapons and tactics, as opposed to higher quality. Obviously, he is a murder-machine. But it's not like he's a Space Marine in ceramite armor with mass-reactive explosive machineguns. He's still a dude.  
Dquinnicus- I've seen that ME/40k tends to draw more ME than 40k fans, so I try to not bog it down. And, they aren't in 40k anymore, so there isn't too much need to go dungeon-delving through the lore. What comes up will come up, but everyone's here for the BLAMMING, not the pages and pages of the exact same word-vomit that every single 40k book has in it. :D  
Eternal War- I am intentionally underwriting his Blankness for now. See the above notes. And again, I promise it will get fully fleshed out in later chapters. Can't spill everything too quickly. But I appreciate that you like the story.  
Vostok2142- Not necessarily. Lots of untouchables slip through the cracks. Just like a lot of psykers miss the Black Ships.  
SkinnyDudeGuy- The Deus Irae is stated as being 140 meters tall in _Horus Rising_. In other sources, Emperor-class Titans are stated as being up to 150 meters tall. Also, Hellguns do not always require a battery pack. It is common to use them, but not mandatory. And you are thinking of hot shot packs, which are different than what hotshot lasguns use (also, being a hellgun, different ballpark). Hot shot packs are specifically used for snipers, as they are 3 or 4 (often actually only 1) high powered charge. Actual hotshot lasguns, volleyguns, and hellguns have specialized magazines designed to work with a higher-intensity charge. Also, variable firepower settings are standard on nearly all las-based weapons, even hellguns. Assuming you are firing at full power, you won't get many shots off regardless. But standard Imperial doctrine doesn't even call for high-power shots when shooting at lightly-armored cultists. Hence the specific mention in Chapter one of the variable settings. ****If you actually read books, and not skim wikia articles, it's amazing what you can learn about Warhammer 40k lore. I've been in the hobby for over 15 years, and read well over 40 books written by everything from Dan Abnett and Sandy Mitchell to the garbage of C.S. Goto. I think I know what I'm talking about.  
erdervv-Jacob does get forgotten a lot, because he falls into the same trap that Kaiden and Ashley did. He's a human in a game about aliens. Who cares, right? (admission, I never NEVER took Jacob as a companion in ME2 for that very reason). But I am trying to get everyone their moment. Even Jacob.  
eipok- FF/net does this weird thing where if you get switched to phone mode, it bolds the entire chapter.  
Warrior19- Eh, probably. If Shepard held still. Biotics are pretty dang powerful.  
ManwithaPlan113- As above, FF/net being dumb.  
Carre- WOOT  
Guest- There will be some POV from the corporal. He's going to be a bit harder to write though, because I have been having a hard time balancing him in as a major player without being all "LOOK AT ALL THE WARHAMMER PEOPLE DOING THINGS"  
Heitomos- see 5), then see 2), then see 4).  
aregulargamer1- Just wait until Kane starts explaining the Imperial Truth and what they do to heretics.  
OBSERVER1- WooT  
BrotherCaptainShepard- Will do!**

* * *

 **Approaching Omega, Sahrabarik System**

Shepard stood in the conference room, his eyes roving across the dossier without truly reading. There was nothing more to learn. He had studied each dossier over and over, absorbing names, dates, locations, comments. They had two hours until docking. Two hours to settle his nerves and prepare for what lay ahead. The situation was not ideal. He had never set foot on Omega; he did not know the layout or the important people or anything that could provide him insight before they landed. Miranda claimed to have been there before, but she was not in a talkative mood right now and preferred to sit in her office nursing her rapidly-healing injuries. Providing she felt up for it, she would have to accompany him.

He found himself wishing he had Garrus or Wrex aboard. A team of humans would stand out, and he did not want to draw unnecessary attention. It would be better to blend in on Omega. But with only humans on his crew, that was not a likely event. One thing he did know about Omega was that humans were not particularly well liked there. An all-human party would draw conflict. And on a place like Omega, any conflict was conflict worth not having.

Not that Shepard was unused to such places. He had operated in slums before. The atmosphere would be claustrophobic, weighted. Triggermen on every corner, always expecting trouble. A single spark would set off a dozen gunfights. And Shepard now had to wonder if he would bring a powder keg into a space station full of powder kegs. The challenge excited him, just as much as he dreaded it. A thousand unknowns lurked in the shadows. If he could pull it off, it would be a worthy achievement.

Not an achievement. There were no achievements when lives were on the line. There was only victory or failure.

Jacob sipped quietly at his coffee, intently studying the page of his book that had not been flipped in fifteen minutes. The armorer was waiting for the decision. Shepard knew which decision. It was the decision that had gnawed at him for hours. Jacob would come. He had earned it. In the short time that Shepard had known him, Jacob had proven himself to be loyal and handy with both a gun and his biotics. Both traits would be needed. Taking the Cerberus officers was a must.

The real question, the one that was nagging him, was what to do with their guests. Sergeant Kane's question had not settled well with Shepard. He could not deny them access to Omega. To do so would be to hold them hostage, and he had no intention of that happening at the moment. He mainly interacted with Sergeant Kane, and the man had shown himself to be transparent in his beliefs. And his beliefs caused friction. Shepard knew Kane had to be handled delicately. Introducing them to the real world, outside the _Normandy_ would have to happen eventually. It was better to do it now, when their questions and minds were still open and fresh. Letting the issue linger would only do harm.

But bringing them to the world carried its own issues. They would have to keep the situation contained. Shepard had no idea how the men would react to Omega. He doubted he could trust many of his crew to have a good handle on them. Certainly, Jacob could do it, and perhaps Yeoman Chambers. She had developed an affinity for the younger soldier, Trooper Brunson. He wanted a guard with them though, someone who could keep them out of trouble. He could spare Jacob to watch Trooper Brunson. Sergeant Kane would need a firmer hand. Shepard studied the possibility from every angle. Chances were, they would end up shooting at something. It would be a good chance to see how the man handled himself in combat. It would also show whether the man could follow orders when dealing with aliens. Risky, but necessary. Jacob's question had stuck firmly in his mind. If Kane proved himself to be a true soldier, his assistance in their mission could be invaluable.

If Kane could control himself.

"Shepard?" Jacob peered up from his book. His eyebrows maintained their emotive question, the same one that had rested there since he had sat down.

"Just collecting my thoughts" Shepard assured Jacob. "Deciding what to do with Kane."

"Are you going to lock him up?"

"No, I don't think so." Shepard took a long breath, surprised to hear his own words. That line of thought had been suppressed and largely ignored. Had Kane been Alliance, he would already be in the brig. But he was not, neither was Miranda, and this was not the Alliance. Things were unconventional here. This whole situation was unconventional. "That fight was as much Miranda's fault as his. I'm going to give him a chance here. We can't keep them in the dark for forever. Better to get it out of the way."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I'll keep him close. Miranda will go with my team; she has Omega experience."

"You'll need more than her to keep an eye on both of them. Kane will take at least two, and I don't know about the other one. That one could go either way, as I see it. He's acclimating pretty well. Kelly and the Engineering crew have latched onto him and are helping him adjust."

"I know." Shepard's brows scrunched together. "And I think that Sergeant Kane knows that too."

"Yeah." Jacob set the book down and leaned forward in his chair. "He doesn't look too happy when he sees his comrade being chummy with the crew."

"Does he still see us as a threat?" Shepard knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it from someone else.

"He would be a fool not to. It's our ship, our people, our time. He's kicking to stay afloat right now."

"And Omega might drown him."

The armorer said nothing, a sure a sign of his agreement. Venting a frustrated sigh, Shepard took a long sip from his coffee. He paused for a moment, savoring the taste of the blend, admiring the rich quality of the beans.

"What's so funny?" Jacob was playing with his book, turning it over and over as if he might find some secret answer to their problems hidden on its cover.

"I was just thinking how much I like this coffee. The _Normandy_ never had good coffee. It was always this prefabricated tofu crap that…" Shepard trailed off when he realized that Jacob had looked away. The man had a pensive frown on his face. Right. This was the _Normandy_ , too. Different ship, but the same. Shepard still couldn't bring himself to think of it as the _Normandy_ , not privately. It wasn't home to him. He wondered if Jacob was going to report this to Miranda. Potential sign of instability. "I'm just glad that Cerberus put out for the genuine article."

"Only the best for the suicide squad." Jacob offered a forced smile, but the brooding behind his eyes had not faded. Before Shepard could say anything else, Jacob rose and nodded his head. "I've got some stuff to do, last minute prep for Omega. Best of luck with the decision, Commander."

He stepped out, and Shepard stared down at his mug. Several seconds passed in silence, musing over the swirling black drink and the potential consequences of those simple words.

"Fuck."

 **-v-**

Kane applied another few drops of oil to the rag before sliding it down the barrel of his hellgun. He had only fired a few shots with it, but that mattered little to him. Usage was usage, whether it was a single shot or a thousand. Flash-burn built up regardless, and it proved deadly when unchecked. He did not gamble the one-in-a-million odds that something might break down on his rifle. Protect your gear, and it will protect you. The adage kept him alive. It kept so many alive.

The ship's intelligence announced the arrival of Commander Shepard outside the room. He did not pay the door a glance as he confirmed entry. Corporal Brunson had wandered off to find that red-haired officer. The two were developing an unsanctionable relationship; nothing he had to worry about in the short term. There was no carnal infraction, and he doubted that the corporal had the intentions or intelligence to pursue such a thing. And Kane was not the man's keeper. They were both soldiers of Cadia. They knew where the line was drawn. As long as the corporal kept on the correct side, he could do as he would.

"Kane." The Commander stepped inside, wearing the same relaxed fatigues that the entire crew appeared to operate in. Kane appreciated the accessibility and practicality of the uniforms. He did not appreciate the officers showing such a lack of decorum. Wearing the same uniform blurred the distinctions between ranks. It encouraged insubordination and fraternization. Again, he felt disgust at the weakness humanity showed in this time. There was so little discipline, so little rigidity.

Commander Shepard strode past him and sank into a chair next to the lone table in the room. He had two canned beverages in his hands. One extended in offer to Kane. "Drink?"

Kane set the barrel down and accepted the can. It was cold, nearly ice-cold. The pressure built behind his eyes as he studied the runes on the can until it reformed as familiar letters. _CorBuch Starlite._

"Alcoholic" the Commander assured him. "Or so they claim. Over two hundred years of service, and they haven't figured out how to make their beer not taste like piss. But it's cheap, and it won't get you wasted."

"Then what's the point?" Kane cracked the lid open and took a long swig. The Commander was not kidding about the taste.

"I don't want you shitfaced when you step on Omega with me."

Kane stared at the Commander over the lip of the can. Uncertain of a reply, he bought time by draining the entire can. The aftertaste was not terrible, and it did give him a pleasant tingling in his belly. Sufficient for a recreational beverage, but certainly not something for when there was serious drinking to be done. "Are you sure that is a good idea?"

"Are you healed up?"

"Your medical technology is astounding" Kane admitted. "Dull throbbing, that is all. It is a tragedy such medicine was lost so long ago." He considered his words. "You know what I mean."

"Then what are your thoughts? Would you go to Omega?"

A deep breath cleared Kane's thoughts. Picking up his hellgun pieces, he quietly began reassembling the weapon. "I just brawled with your executive officer."

"Forget that for now. At breakfast you had asked what my plan was for you. Right now, that plan might include you coming with me to the station. Would you do it?"

To be honest, he did not know. Kane was anxious to be off the ship, to have his feet on solid ground. But he did not know if this was the way to do it. What he had been told of Omega was that it was a xenos den, a nest of vipers and fiends. That would not be friendly territory. Then again, he doubted even a human world would be friendly territory. It did not seem there would be any good options. There would not be a good time or place. Not in this galaxy.

"Assuming I agree, what would be the terms?"

"You follow my orders. You operate as part of my team."

"I can follow orders."

"Even if those orders include recruiting an alien onto the _Normandy_?"

That was what the Commander wanted to know. Not whether or not Kane would come. Of course Kane would come. That was a given. But bringing a xenos onboard was an entirely different matter. He have never met a xenos that was not trying to kill him. They were freaks and monsters. Living in close proximity to one… he knew he could control himself. His discipline was impeccable. It should have been. His nerves were so frayed, his world so turned-upside-down, that he caught himself wondering if he could force himself to adapt. To endure the presence of xenos.

He did not know the answer, and that disturbed him.

"I can follow orders" he repeated, grinding out the words with obvious displeasure. "However I may request to transfer off-ship permanently if that arrangement proves… unacceptable."

"You do realize that leaving would most likely end up with you being handed off to scientists and researchers for study."

"If they are human, that would be acceptable."

Both men remained silent for a while. Shepard finally spoke again. "I am going to be honest with you, Kane. I don't know if this is a good idea. I don't know if keeping you onboard is a good idea. I don't know if this whole plan in general is a good idea. We're grasping at straws here. I have one ship, just one ship, to try and find a way to stop a galactic invasion of a super race of machines that exterminate the galaxy like clockwork. There aren't even mathematical odds for the likelihood of success here. Any chance I get, any opportunity that arises, I have to take it. You are an opportunity. You just might give us that little bit of extra that could change something down the road, that could change something else, that could lead to a happy ending here. But I don't know. I can't even pray for success, because I don't know what success looks like.

"I have a ship full of spies watching me and reporting to their bosses. I have the Citadel Council questioning my every move and accusing me of treason. The Alliance won't even breathe in my direction. Half the people on this ship think I'm a saint, the others are waiting for me to crack and fall apart. Right now, you are the only person on this ship that I can talk to face-to-face without any ulterior motives. You're an asshole and a bigot, but you are honest. I need that right now. I need your honest, one-hundred percent no-bullshit opinion. You, Omega. Yes or no?"

That, Kane recognized. This was the face of a Cadian company commander who had requested artillery strikes on the incoming Ork horde only to be told the artillery was being diverted to a different part of the line. These were the words of a lieutenant being told to assault the Eldar defense line with no vehicle support, because some nitwit up the chain had pulled the Chimeras to ferry his staff across the back lines. This was frustration, anger, righteousness.

"I will do it."

Some of the tension deflated from the Commander. He offered Kane a reassured smile and drained his own can. The simpleness of the expression put Kane at ease. This was only a man. A man with incredible responsibility, and he knew it. Those were the kind of men that could be trusted. His worries stemmed from whether or not he could accomplish his objective, not how he would look doing it.

"Which is not to say I question you allowing me to accompany you so soon after the brawl I had with Officer Lawson. Does your time not discipline your soldiers? I am still waiting for you to send me to the brig."

"You are not an Alliance soldier." The Commander shrugged. "As far as I am concerned, you are a diplomat. That means you have a degree of immunity. That being said, my threat stands. If you are in another fight like that… airlock."

"Fair." Kane stood slowly, testing his side for pain. He extended his hand and they shook. "What is the loadout for this and how long do I have?"

"Armed, armored. It is a pirate's den, so we will go in prepared for trouble. Your armor isn't shielded, but we can rig a portable shield generator for you. And I would suggest not taking a sword. Your rifle will draw enough attention as it is. Though I pray were don't have to fire it. A single clip of that hitting the Extranet will blow us into the spotlight, and I enjoy being able to fly under the radar for a while."

"Understood. Forces?"

"Ours? Three-person team. You, myself, Miranda. We will be investigating the first dossier target. I am considering letting your corporal go with Jacob and Kelly to gather supplies. Let him stretch his legs, but keep him out of trouble."

Kane sorted through his questions, wondering which to press first. "Three people? That is an incredibly small team."

"We aren't exactly storming an enemy position, Kane. Will that be a problem?"

"I can work at any force level." He held up a finger. "But putting myself and Officer Lawson on the team, would that be wise?"

"Have you talked to her, apologized?"

"Not yet. I assumed letting some time to cool off would be beneficial."

"Well, you are both professionals. Talk to her before we step off, and fix it. Even if it's a slap of a bandaid, make it work."

"Can do."

"Can do, or will do?" Commander Shepard eyed him challengingly.

"Both, Commander. As far as Officer Lawson is concerned, I am sure she is your executive officer for a reason. She has skills and knowledge that have earned her the position. Our personal issues have no place on the battlefield; what is important is the team's ability to complete the mission. I can swallow my pride for the sake of the objective. And, there isn't any wounded pride here."

"Okay. Go talk to her. You don't need an escort, and you know where her quarters are."

"Yes, Commander."

"And stop calling me that." Commander Shepard offered a weary smile. "You can call me Shepard, or John. Whichever works."

"Yes sir… Shepard." Kane put his hands to his chest in the shape of the aquila. Shepard studied the gesture for a moment before offering his time's salute. "Let' do this."

Kane stepped out of the room in full armor. It was the first time wearing it since they had come aboard. Two days without armor had left him itchy to have it back on. Donning his armor had easily been one of the most soothing moments of the day. His sidearm slid into its holster with the gratifying _shuck_ of metal on leather. Slipping three grenades, one krak and two frag, into his belt, he shouldered his pack and checked the charge on the power packs. They were fully charged and their batteries were tight to maximum efficiency. Kane approved. Jacob Taylor had been right in his assessment regarding the zero core. The energy they used here was so clean he did not notice any inefficiency in the recharging. There was actually a slight fluctuation that appeared to have restored past degradation. The magazines were juiced to factory specifications. More technology that could restore the Imperium to its former glory, had it not been lost.

His combat bayonet went on last, sliding into its hidden sheath under his bicep plate. It was an unusual place for the weapon, most of his fellow Kasrkin had laughed at it. But it was easy to access and people didn't look for it there. Surprise was a huge factor in close quarters combat. It had saved his life on numerous occasions. If it was stupid, but it worked, it wasn't stupid.

Being back in armor reminded Kane of how much taller he was than the average crew member. They were generally short, roughly the size of a normal Guardsman or a little less. His natural height, coupled with the genetic modifications of the Schola Progenium, set him almost a head and a half over them when in armor. Part of that was because of his boots, he knew that. They were heavy duty boots, designed to protect his feet in harsh conditions and lined with armor plating, thermal and shock absorbers as well. The armor bulked out his figure in general. Every piece of his gear was larger. He knew intimidation was part of being a Kasrkin. Fear was one of the many weapons in a Kasrkin's arsenal.

Leaving his hellgun slung over one shoulder and his helmet tucked under his arm, Kane strode through the Normandy's decks until he found the armory. The one or two crewmen he encountered hurried to get out of his way, peeling to the bulkheads as if afraid he would snap out and strike them. Their apprehension amused him, even though it struck him as correct. They should be afraid of him. They should all be afraid.

Jacob was working away on a device the size of a melta bomb. Kane approached slowly, not wanting to disturb him. The AI spoiled that effort when she addressed them both.

" **Officer Taylor. Sergeant Kane is here to see you regarding the shield generator**."

"Thanks, EDI." Jacob set his work down and turned towards Kane. He tapped the object on the table and gestured for the Kasrkin to come closer. "This is it, Kane. It'll give you protection in a fight and is rated at about ten rounds."

"It will stop ten rounds," Kane repeated, making sure he understood. When Jacob nodded he examined the piece closely. "Ten standard rounds, sniper rounds, what? Then it's done?"

"Once depleted it has to cool down, but after a few seconds it will come back on and recharge."

"Rechargeable personal shields?" Kane considered the wonder of their technology. "How do I know when it is powered?"

"When it gets low it will emit a soft warning tone. And when it starts recharging it will hum. Short wavelength, so you will be just about the only one to hear it."

"Is it visible?"

"Only when taking shots. Happens split-second, and a lot of people blink, so you probably won't notice it. Otherwise, it's invisible."

"I don't blink," Kane muttered.

"Huh?"

"I don't blink when taking fire." Kane crossed his arms.

"Okay then." Jacob picked the device up and handed it to Kane. The armorer clearly had no stomach to contend that point. "I can mag-clamp it to your armor."

Kane nodded. "Small of my back, where it will be out of the way. That should work."

Bending over one of the tables, he waited for Jacob to install the generator. It took a little experimenting for him to clamp it down in a secure manner. Kane spent a minute walking around the armory, testing the new weight. It was very light, almost weightless. It would take getting used to. For now though, he did not think he would change his tactics. Assume every bullet is a lethal one and you will get home just fine.

"How does it work?"

"It blocks projectiles moving over a certain speed" Jacob told him. "Slow-moving objects like a thrown ball or a knife will get through, but we rarely get in that close."

"High velocity protection. We have some technology that could do the like. Not at this scale though." Kane patted his arm sheath. "I've got my own close quarter weapon defenses."

"I remember that," the armorer said. "You're pretty nifty with that?"

"We are trained to be."

Jacob nodded and pointed to the hellgun. "Shepard letting you take the laser rifle?"

"Hellgun. He said so. Why?"

"Oh, nothing against it. Just curious." Jacob shrugged. "That could be trouble.'

"Yes." Kane knew what the man meant. Firing an energy weapon in a projectile-based time would raise eyebrows. But he wasn't about to leave it behind. Or go into battle with a weapon he did not know intimately. The hellgun had served him since his late days in the Schola. He would rather die than be parted from it.

The door on the CIC-side opened. Yeoman Chambers strutted in, the look on her face making Kane wonder if she had eaten a sour meal. Looking from Jacob to the weapons lockers, she sighed and held out her hand with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner in queue for an injection.

"John wants me armed" she complained.

"Never thought I'd hear a human not want to walk armed with the xenos" Kane grumbled.

The woman looked at him and the sourness faded. Her brilliant smile eased onto her face as if it had never left. They hadn't spoken but one time in passing. Corporal Brunson had taken an instant shine to the perky redhead though, and Kane had heard plenty of compliments about the Yeoman. He did not feel comfortable getting too nice with her though, because Shepard had confirmed that she was a spy. Perhaps not as these people saw it, but a spy was a spy no matter the term.

"It's not that I don't think Omega is dangerous," she said. "I'm not naïve. I'm a pacifist."

"What in Throne's teeth is a _pacifist_?" Kane voiced his incredulity at the word. He had a terrible feeling that he knew what it meant.

Her smile did not falter. She had a very nice smile, and was generous with showing it. As far as he could tell, it was a defense mechanism as much as it was a weapon. "I'm just sure that Kyle and Jacob will keep me safe."

"Kyle?" Kane looked from her to Jacob. They stared back.

"Your buddy. Kyle Brunson."

"Ah." Kane grunted. "Shepard did mention the three of you were stepping off without a proper escort."

"We aren't going out to fight a war."

"On a pirate-infested den…"

"Well," Her smile somehow became sweeter. "I have two strong and handsome soldiers to keep me safe."

"Speaking of…" Jacob handed her a Phalanx pistol. "Here you go, Kelly. Not loaded, as usual."

Noting the odd look Kane sent them both, Jacob explained. "I've learned her heatsinks tend to end up discarded somewhere, so it's better to just hold onto them. Saves the ammunition."

"This time never ceases to horrify," Kane muttered.

Giving the armorer a thanks for the shield generator, Kane backed out of the armory and left the two crewmembers to a discussion of what sort of weapon Jacob would be carrying. She was terribly good at her job, getting people on her side. That sort of thing was dangerous. He would need to watch the corporal carefully. Clearly, the man was vulnerable. Vulnerability led to doubt. And doubt led to heresy.

It was troubling enough that Shepard considered drawing xenos into the ranks of this vessel. Their mission, one he had little understanding of, proclaimed the standard doom and gloom he would have found in any sermon of an Ecclesiarchy minister. But there was no clear understanding. Something about a monster race coming to destroy them all. But there were no details, nothing he could draw from. It could all be speculation. Or it could be a startling truth that the whole galaxy had chosen to ignore.

This one crew, a small band of less than a hundred, fully expected to bring about a stop to this supposed cataclysm. The absurdity of the concept made him question the Commander's bravery and intelligence. This was not the sort of thing that could be handled by a single ship. Even the Inquisition hunted threats larger than a system's threat in packs, acquiring as many assets as physically present for the job. In the Imperium, there was no such thing as overkill. It was hard to believe humanity could survive without the same application.

His path took him down the side-stairs to the executive officer's quarters. Officer Lawson's position rated her own multi-room suite, doubling as both workroom and bedroom. Incredibly lavish, especially for a ship this small, to apply so much space to a single individual. Officers had their perks in any fleet, it seemed. The location was primed for access, at least. A few dozen feet from the elevator, same level as the medical bay. Quick sprint up the stairs to the CIC.

A small box had been installed at throat-height by the door. Kane studied it for a minute before deciding that the simple red button underneath the vox-box sufficed. He pressed and waited for the light tone that indicated a connection had been achieved.

"Officer Lawson, I would request a word."

Silence greeted his announcement. Kane waited for an appropriate amount of time before repeating his statement. Again, he heard nothing back, and began to wonder if she was even in.

The orange run on the door changed to green, and the steel pieces slid away just a breath later. Miranda Lawson stood framed in the door, shadows catching the curves of her body from the lights behind, a faded bruising still showing about her nose from its rapid healing. A fierce scowl lit her features. He was becoming quite familiar with that expression of hers. It was as prominent on her as a smile was on Yeoman Chambers.

"Officer." He released the button.

"That button occupies the channel," she grumbled. "If you keep holding it like a monkey, I can't tell you to come in."

Kane bit back a response, and followed her inside. The room was bare, spartan, lacking even basic ornamentation or the trophies he would have expected in an Imperial officer's room. A single bookshelf stood to the right behind a large black desk, occupied with genuine paperbound books. He studied them in passing, noting instruction manuals, academic pieces, and a few select small ones that appeared to be recreational. The sight of it nearly stopped him. He had never seen a physical book in such excellent condition. Such precious things were a treasure in the Imperium.

Forcing past his wonder, he let his attention shift over her desk. Three holoscreens occupied her desk, each one filled with scrolling data and symbols he would never be able to understand. Past her work area, a framed partition split the room, revealing a luxurious bed tucked in the back as well as an L-shaped couch and a low table stacked with paper reports and even more books. Other than that, nothing that showed any personal belongings, or any kind of clue into what sort of person she was. Or maybe, it told him exactly what kind of person she was. A scholar, a scientist. He found himself surprised that he had not expected anything different.

Officer Lawson circled around the desk and took her seat, tipping her hand to indicate the chair.

"I came to apologize for my actions," Kane told her, forcing the words out. It grated at this lungs. It was not the first time he had apologized over something that was not his fault. Did not make it any less frustrating. "When you manifested your... power, I made an assumption about you. That assumption was incorrect."

Her glare did not lessen, nor did she reply. Her expression radiated impatience, irritation.

"Is that all?"

"It is." Kane refused to rise to the bait.

"Then your apology is accepted." She turned her attention back to her work. Kane waited patiently, knowing that he had all the time in the world. After a minute or two, she glanced up, feigning annoyed surprise at his presence. "You have something to say?"

"You do." He met her gaze without blinking.

"Do I?" Her facade nearly slipped into a smirk, but she smothered it quickly.

"It takes two to fight, Madam Lawson."

"That it does." She sighed quietly and put down her stylus pen. "So you are expecting an apology as well?"

"Commander Shepard is expecting one. He has us on ground team, alongside him, here at Omega."

"I have been told so much." She nodded slowly. "And what do you think of it?"

"I believe you and I have similar minds of the decision." Kane appreciated her honesty, in this respect. Her own impression read clearly on her face. "Regardless, we are required to operate alongside each other. There will be no issue on my end, but the Commander wants us to make an effort to settle this confrontation."

"Confrontation?" She scoffed. "Is that what you call trying to break my neck?"

Kane shrugged.

"I can put aside any personal conflict for the sake of the team."

"Then we have a truce?"

"We do."

"Then I am done here." Kane rose to his feet and clasped his fist to his chest in informal salute. "Permission to be dismissed?"

"Granted." Miranda tapped a button her her desk, and the door slid open.

 **Omega, Sahrabarik System**

Shepard led the team out of the airlock and into the dusty tunnel that led into Omega proper. He scanned the bulkheads as they moved, noting the reddish-black rock that pressed against the transparent windows. A claustrophobic would have panic attacks here. He glanced back at his teammates. Kane's tall and armored frame stood out like a krogan among salarians. Blocky and angular, the armor cast an intimidating shadow across the lighted tunnel, and the confident swing of his step intimated sudden violence.

The man had chosen to leave his hellgun slung over his shoulder in a neutral pose. It was a rare show of trust compared to what Shepard would have expected. In retrospect, Shepard would have preferred he held the weapon at the ready. With the rise of collapsible weapons technology and microchips, it was the rare weapon that retained a sling. Just relic weapons and custom-crafting. This was just one more reason for eyes to be on the hulking Cadian. God only knew the repercussions of a news feed or video catching the hellgun in action.

"Stay tight" Shepard reminded them, not that he needed to. Sergeant Kane clung to his side with professional attachment, copying his stride in length and speed perfectly, his posture indicating a guarding position. His Cerberus agents were less robotic in following, but knew how to maintain a close formation. The resulting block of armed warriors cut a clear message to anyone who wanted to mistake them for prey.

After the tunnel came the entryway. Two tunnels branched into this entrance, one of many dotting the asteroid. Joker had reported that there were dozens, most were hidden or secured. This particular one appeared well-used. According to the basic map scans that had been auto-forwarded to the _Normandy's_ databanks, this entrance had the prestigious placement of being closest to the Queen of Omega's den. The proximity had set his teeth on edge. It made him wonder if she knew.

The rumors that had reached him about Aria of Omega were quite colorful and dire. A powerful biotic warrior, a shrewd gang leader, and a brutal commander. If anyone knew where his targets were, it would be her. And she would know if Shepard did not go straight to see her. Aria was a crime lord, and no crime lord trusted in the loyalty of those around them. If he avoided her, she would consider it a threat, in one way or another. He was not going to endanger his crew over a misunderstanding. And he also needed to know what he was up against here. If he could reach an agreement with the Queen of Omega, this could go so much easier.

Though, really, he doubted anything ever went easy on Omega.

A squirrely salarian approached them from the secondary airlock that would introduce them to Omega's bright and shiny interior. It clasped its hands together in nervous anticipation as it sized them up. A squatter, or some low-end thug, stationed around the airlocks to try and shake down passengers. Shepard wondered how often that worked in a place like this.

"Ah, welcome to Omega! You are new here, aren't you? I can tell. I've got an eye for new blood. Allow me to-"

Shepard might have let the salarian keep talking, but the hatch behind opened and an armed batarian stormed through. Kane shifted subtly, hand drifted down to his hellgun's grip, prepared to flip it over and into a firing position in a moment's notice. But the batarian was not interested in them. He stormed up to the salarian and pushed the smaller alien roughly to the side.

"Bug off, Fargut!" The batarian made a show of pointing his rifle not-quite at the salarian. "Now!"

"Su- Sure, Molkan. Whatever you say. I was just doing as sh-"

"Now, worm!"

Bowing frantically, the salarian scuttled off and disappeared back into the hatch. They all watched it's deflated retreat, some in humor, others in impatience. Once the doors slammed shut again, the batarian clipped his rifle back behind his back and held up his hands to show he intended no threat.

"Blasted scavengers don't have a damned brain between them. Welcome to Omega, Shepard."

More than one of his companions tensed at the casual reference of his name. That was supposed to be a secret. When Joker had transmitted the _Normandy's_ codes, the data had been falsified ID. A mark-one eyeball would have spotted the lie easily, but no one transmitted their real ID when coming to a place like Omega. Still, how could they have known Shepard himself was there. Then again, Shepard had a pretty recognizable face. Though it did not explain how the batarian could have such a calm reaction to seeing him.

"You know who I am?"

Stupid question, and it shot out of his mouth before he could stop it. Smoothly adjusting his reaction, he straightened his posture a little more and crossed his arms over his chest. He would not show any sort of weakness here. Batarians had no respect for anyone that showed signs of weakness.

"Of course I know who you are." The batarian's voice grated in annoyance. "Everyone in the fracking galaxy knows who you are. And yes, we had you tagged the moment you entered the system. Real clever, _Normandy SR-2_. Would have thought you humans would have found a grander name for it. Subtle, you aren't."

" _Fracking xenos bastard_."

Kane's grunted whisper stretched ominously across the chamber, amplified by his speakers. Shepard and his people understood it, of course. But the batarian wouldn't. Maybe that was why the Cadian had not kept his voice lowered as he cursed.

Gliding over the moment, Shepard stole the batarian's curious look back to himself. "So what now? I assume you have a message for me?"

"Lose the tone, Shepard. You might be hotshit in Citadel space, but out here, your name carries less weight than that salarian I just told to bugger off. Aria wants to know what brings a dead Spectre to Omega, so I suggest you go and present yourself to the _Afterlife_ now."

Thirty seconds onto Omega and she was already waiting for him. This was a wonderful start. He had a feeling this was not going to be as quiet as he could have hoped.

 _Step One: Formulate the Plan._

 _Step Two: Forget the Plan_

"I'm not here to cause problems," Shepard assured the man.

The batarian laughed, his rumbling grumble sounding like crushed gravel. "Things explode around you, Shepard. You can't blame Aria for keeping an eye on you. _Afterlife Bar_ , now." Before turning, the batarian glanced up at Kane, sizing him up with a blank look. "Tough guy, that one? Keep a leash on him."

Leaving them with the same graceless air he had approached with, the batarian called Molkan stomped away. A snuffling sound wheezed out of Kane's helmet speakers. The man did love the effect that helmet-modulated voice gave off. Even though Shepard knew what the man was saying, it still sounded angry and terrifying. Sort of like German.

"I am looking forward to killing that one" the Cadian muttered.

"Hold your temper" Shepard warned.

"Held."

"And don't talk too much. No one here is going to understand you, and that's going to draw attention."

Signalling to the others, Shepard ordered Jacob, Kelly, and Brunson to split off and go about their business. Theirs was mundane, entirely ordinary. Nothing that Aria would be bothered by. Her spies would follow them and see absolutely nothing to worry about. Unless Kelly improving the morale of the station through her infectious cheerfulness was worrisome. Miranda and Kane followed him. They would go pay respects to Aria and see what she had to say about their presence.

The first thought that struck Shepard as he entered Omega proper was how familiar it all was. Blazing neon lights hung before, above, around, every corner and shop. A cacophony of lights bathed concrete, rock, flesh. The glow-like aura of life drowned everything, burning away true colors and distorting his vision. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze, trying to focus on specific images and bodies. Mobs poured through the streets and alleys, filling doorways like rushing tides, spilling around stalls and merging in and out of the momentum with practiced experience. Hundreds of bodies crammed shoulder to shoulder, all moving, all angry and sullen.

This was a powder keg of fantastic proportions.

" _Bladerunner_ ," Miranda said, her voice low but serious.

"What?"

"You're thinking it reminds you of _Bladerunner_. Most people do when they first see Omega."

"It wasn't… but now that you mention it, I get it." God, it had been years. He had been, what, twelve? Classic Film, back in secondary school. They watched eight different versions of it that year. He had hated it, back then. But now he saw the beauty of it. Controlled anarchy, a riot of life.

Miranda guided them, having been on the asteroid before. She slid through the crowd like water, sifting in between bodies as if she had always walked its crowded streets. Her Cerberus bodysuit drew many stares, and not because of the unassuming logo on her shoulders. Nothing worth suspecting trouble, but nothing that did not set Shepard's teeth on edge. He stuck close to her side, providing that extra bulk to ward off any stupid ideas. Not that Miranda was incapable of caring for herself.

Trailing behind them, stomped the hulking form of Kane. The Cadian had no trouble making his way through the crowds, though where Shepard and Miranda weaved their way, he merely bulldozed forward like a krogan among salarians. His massive carapace armor towered above heads like a beacon, and his broad arms pushed people aside when they were too slow to vacate his path. One or two pushed back, cursing and barking complaints. After he sent one reeling with a vicious backhand, others stayed out of his way. The backhand surprisingly drew little attention. In a place like this, it was hardly uncommon. Anything short of a drawn weapon was to be expected here. Kane's attitude matched the atmosphere perfectly. So long as he left it at that.

They walked for most of a kilometer before spotting the brilliant and dominating sign for the _Afterlife Bar_. Aria's place had its own little plaza, a premium resort in a place like this where every square foot was fought over and bartered for. Whether or not it had been prepared before or after her reign, the place had been developed into both a fortress and an entertainment facility. Shepard noted the hidden turrets and surveillance gear spread through the nooks and crannies. No one with ill-intent could come within eyesight of this place without getting picked out. And probably picked off.

Seven steps lifted the _Afterlife Bar_ above the street-level, and a half-dozen bouncers guarded the front and ensured the long lines remained in order. Light-rails guided the throng hoping to gain entrance, and the hopefuls maintained their composure. Certainly they knew how hard it was to curry Aria's favor, and how easy it would be to lose their chance.

Not that everyone was coming just for her. It was still a bar, after all, and widely regarded to be the most well-stocked one on the asteroid. Considering Aria's crew had first pick of everything coming onto the station. Even the most casual attendee of the _Afterlife Bar_ would be making the most of their visit. Proximity to the Queen alone was enough for bragging rights and stories.

Staring dubiously at the line, Shepard considered whether he had the time to wait. The batarian saved them the decision, reappearing from the group of bouncers. "That line is for peons, Shepard." He gestured for them to follow. "Welcome to the _Afterlife Bar_. You made the smart choice coming this quickly."

Curious mutters arose from the lines as Shepard and the others were escorted around the light-rails and taken directly to the doors. Molkan grunted to the bouncers, who obligingly stepped aside. None of the hopefuls complained, but Shepard could feel their eyes on his back. Wondering who it was that earned a skip through the lines. Someone close to Aria, they would be thinking. Or, at the least, someone incredibly important. It would not be long before the smart ones put two and two together.

He had never really expected to remain under the radar for long anyways. At least he wasn't going to have to report on this to the Council.

"Go on in." Molkan nodded jerkingly with his head. "Word of warning: you start anything in there, Aria will finish it. I'm talking to you, tough guy."

The implied threat had no effect on Kane, who responded with stony silence that may have been genuine, or he had turned off his helmet speakers. The Cadian stared down at the batarian, and it appeared neither was willing to back down before the other. Miranda interposed herself and pulled on Kane's arm before either decided to do something stupid.

The _Afterlife Bar_ was just like any other bar Shepard had set foot in, but ramped up to eleven. Just like outside, the interior was washed out in bursts of colored light coming from every corner. The thumping bass of the music drowned out all but the loudest sounds. Thick banks of artificial fog wafted through the hallways and over the dance spaces, seeded with airborne intoxicants. The main floor stretched a good deal, almost large enough for a concert house, with many side rooms for gambling or private meetings. And the dancers were everywhere. Some on stages, others gyrating in suspended cages, some plying their trade on more lucrative laps. Drugs were offered openly alongside the alcohol, and minors appeared just as welcome as adults in all activities. The only thing he did not see were rows of small living units reserved for prostitutes and their clients. Considering everything else was on open display, Shepard doubted those would be tucked anywhere else. Maybe Aria did have one vice that she refused to partake in at her sanctum. Or there physically wasn't enough space to make it viable here.

Everything here was designed to distract, to confuse. On the simplest level, it improved revenue. The less in control a person was, the more likely they were to spend money. On a grander scale, it would keep any aggressors off-balance should she come under attack. And it made it easier for her spies to gain information through all the mess. Shepard counted almost half the patrons to be watching them, and not out of idle curiosity. In a place like _Afterlife_ , no one wanted to be watched, or to watch others. The fact that so many were eying Shepard and his lot meant that Aria had them under incredible surveillance. And assembled so quickly, too. They were surrounded by people ready to kill them. That felt familiar, at least.

"Blue-skinned, directly ahead, two levels up," Kane muttered, nudged Shepard's elbow. The Cadian stared defiantly up at the asari in the VIP-box, meeting her gaze through the veil of his visor. Even at the distance, obscured by the smoke, Shepard knew who it was.

Proud and statuesque, Aria of Omega stood in the balcony with her hands resting on the railing. They spent a moment staring at each other, one in wary contempt, the other in guarded curiosity. Then, in a motion so slight it was nearly invisible, the asari tipped her head to the right, where a set a stairs guarded by two batarians led to the box. Turning on her heel, she disappeared into the chamber.

One of the asari dancers slinked off her stage, detaching from her gratuitous dance with ease, and intercepted them. Though her expression was light and her voice breathy from exertion, she nonetheless carried herself with a seriousness that informed them she was no ordinary dancer.

"The Mistress bids you enter via those stairs" she told them, sliding around Shepard, trailing one hand up his arm as if propositioning him for a personal dance. That is what it would have looked like to an outsider. Why she bothered with the deception, Shepard did not know. But she did, and he allowed it. She was a sinuous creature, with a touch of age around her eyes and mouth, more a matron than a maiden. Commando, possibly. Probably. "Be respectful, be courteous. As far as you are concerned, she is the judge, jury, and executioner here. And do not address her by name unless she gives you permission."

Twirling behind him, she placed her chin on Shepard's armored shoulder and cooed softly. "Welcome to Omega, Shepard. I'll be down here when you finish, should you need a… _personal tour_."

Her message delivered, she stepped away, but not before letting her hand slide down to offer a firm slap on Shepard's buttocks. The armored plate deflected the intent, but the meaning came clearly enough. Stalking off lithely into the crowd, the asari dancer approached the bar and took a seat near the corner. Shepard shook his head ever so slightly and glanced at the others. Miranda showed nothing, her thoughts private. Kane's posture had grown even tenser than before. The Cadian carried himself as if he walked in a minefield, and a single misstep might kill him.

"Those are…" his question lingered, spoken with clinical precision of a scientist viewing a newfound insect for the first time.

"Asari."

"I don't see any males of their kind here."

"The asari are a mono-gendered race" Miranda answered, making the subtle step forward that got them moving again. The guards by the stairs were tracking their approach from across the floor. "They self-prescribe as an all-female race, seeing as how they fulfill the female gender role in nearly all effects."

"That is disgusting." Kane growled a few unintelligible phrases under his breath that were most likely curses with no appropriate translation.

"They are also the the most powerful biotics and the longest-lived Council race. They were the ones to discover the Citadel, and had a hand in uplifting most of the sentient races in Council space."

"I have no idea what any of that means. Why the frack are there no males?"

"Evolved that way," Shepard answered, cutting off Miranda before she wasted more time trying to explain it. "Don't bust an aneurysm trying to wrap your head around it. Just enjoy the view."

"There is nothing here to enjoy" the Cadian grumbled. "Just bastard xenos freaks."

"I am so glad you chose to bring him along," Miranda muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Shepard to hear.

The batarians halted them at the foot of the stairs.

"Shepard," the first one said, a statement not a question.

"Yes."

"Leave your weapons here." The second hit a button and a section of the wall crumpled in on itself, revealing a small compartment just too small to hold a body. "No one sees Aria armed."

Knowing better than to argue, Shepard handed over his weapons. Miranda did likewise, handing over her Tempest submachine gun, by far the least dangerous weapon she possessed. That pleased the batarians, but their scowls deepened when Kane made no move to comply.

"Sergeant Kane?"

"I refuse to leave these weapons in the hands of xenos." The Cadian slowly unslung his hellgun, but rather than offering it, he clutched it in a neutral pose. One that could leap to a shooting one in a tick. "These weapons were consecrated in the holy forges of Cadia. They are baptized in the blood of xenos and daemons. I would die before letting them be touched by filthy xenos scum."

Even as Shepard formulated an argument to berate the Cadian, he realized that Kane was entirely right, but not for that reason. His weapons were easily identifiable as unique on close inspection. If these went out of sight for even a moment, there would be no telling what the batarians might do, or Aria for that matter. Scan them, confiscate them, steal them? No, Kane was right. He could not hand them over.

Damn it.

"We'll be right back. Stay out of trouble." Shepard nodded respectfully. Turning back to the guards, who handled their weapons nervously, he jerked his thumb towards Kane. "He's staying down here. Keeping his weapons."

"Not sure that's an option for you. The Mistress wants to see _all_ of you."

The batarians lifted their rifles, aiming them directly at Kane. The Cadian growled menacingly, but made no move to lift his own weapon. If he did, there would be a shootout. And there were too many guns aimed their way. Despite that, he noted Miranda balling her hands into fists, and purpling energy seeped into the air around gloves. They were all tensing for a fight.

"Hey!" Molkan came storming up from behind them. Shoving past Miranda, he grabbed the barrels of both batarians' rifles and shoved them towards the floor. Both guards started in surprise at his appearance. "What are you idiots doing? Put your damn weapons down before you hurt yourselves."

"Sure, Molkan," one sputtered. "We were-"

"I know what you were doing, idiot. You were drawing on a damned Spectre and his posse. Do you want to be the one that has to tell Aria why a firefight erupted in _Afterlife_?"

"But th-"

"But nothing! Go turn in, swap out with Grizz and Anto. You two are down for the day." Molkan sent them packing like a schoolteacher, both with heads ducked low in embarrassment. He growled after them before turning back to Shepard. "Let me guess, tough guy here causing trouble."

"He's staying here if we have to turn over weapons," Shepard answered. "That was it."

"Well, bad news for you that Aria wants to talk to all of you. Good news is, you're a Spectre, so disarming you is about as useful as sponge-bathing a krogan. Pick up your guns, Shepard. Just don't draw them. Since everyone else here seems to be taking stupid pills, I'll escort you up."

Shepard climbed the stairs and went to meet the most powerful person in Omega.

 **-v-**

Kane did not like this. They were surrounded by armed xenos, many of which were watching them with open hostility. Putting aside his own prejudice, what sort of madman would willingly step into such a place? He had hardly seen another human in the throng. Perhaps there weren't any. Regardless, they were surrounded by hostiles. The two guards had not been any different, just less well trained. It was good they had not been forced to fire, though, because the odds were too great even for him. He could only fight so many guns without cover. The simple shield generator that Jacob Taylor had given him could not possibly hold up against that much firepower, nor could his armor.

The Commander had insisted on his trust, and his obedience. So far, it was tolerable. He had maintained low expectations going into this warp-spawned hole, but his patience endured. As they reached the door that led to the central room, Kane heaved a long breath and braced himself for whatever lay inside. He expected a den of depravity and sins just like the rest of his establishment had to offer.

What he found instead was a rather collected and clean private room, just like in any of the officer quarters he had seen in Imperial territory. Couches occupied the middle of the room, and an open wall led to the balcony with more seats and small tables of refreshments. The lighting here was white and sensible, revealing all but not distracting in its intensity. The sound was muted too, as if some technology prevented incoming sound from reaching those inside this room. It was secured. That was good. That told him more of what he needed to know. This was a trusted sanctum.

The other occupants of the room watched their entrance. Three more guards: one of the ugly four-eyed monsters, a turian, and the giant hump-backed hulk called _krogan_. All three held shotguns in tightly clenched hands, all three watched them with expectation. More trigger-happy xenos guards. It was a wonder that gun battles did not occur on an hourly basis. Kane wanted nothing more than to put holes in their grimy skulls, especially the humpback's sneering grotesque face. Its thick stubby fingers drummed relentlessly on the trigger guard of its oversized shotgun, flaunting its intent. They were all cocky and arrogant. Two things that often preceded an inglorious death, in his experience.

Their leader, at least, appeared to have some competence. The blue-skinned xenos stood in the threshold of the balcony, watching them with appraisal. Were she a human she might have been seductive in her pose, with tight leather clothing clinging to her curves and revealing just the right amount of flesh to rile the imagination, mouth pursed in a frown that offered both dripping condescension and careful promise. Pale blue eyes tracked over them, inspecting each in turn, giving each the same amount of study as the next. Her skin gleamed in the light, drawing attention to the slit along the sides of her pants, and her exposed belly. Had she been human, she might have been attractive. But her blue skin, the tentacle growths on her head, it all was wrong.

Her posture dripped with righteous arrogance, a creature that knew she was in charge, knew she had power. Kane understood that she did, at the moment. With so many guns at her back, she had supreme rulership. If an Imperial detachment was sent here, though, he knew she would tuck her tail and run like the cowardly wretch that she was.

"Commander Shepard, approach." She gestured towards the balcony. Shepard gave Miranda and Kane a reassuring look before stepping up to join her. Left behind, they waited patiently. Kane ignored the leering gazes of the xenos guards. They were jealous of his weapons and armor. Even if they could not understand what he carried, they knew it was better. Taking his cue from Officer Lawson, he snapped into the at-ease position and focused on listening. He listened to sounds, whispers, the cycling of an unseen air-conditioner. It was quiet in here. The sharp disconnect between this room and the outside establishment could be felt in the thrumming of energy current in the air. A significant amount of power channeled into this room, enough to power devices capable of shielding it from the cacophony outside.

His eyes wandered over to his comrade. Officer Lawson had slipped into her usual impatient pose of crossing her arms under her chest and leaning on one hip, her expression soured as if she were being told to wait while an urgent matter called for her attention. Her sleek bodysuit turned the pose into a quite distracting scene, something that he noted the xenos guards had recognized and were enjoying quite openly. Her back turned, she endured their stares with the insufferable patience of someone used to it.

"Pretty gun," the krogan grumbled, stepping forward in a surge of muscle. It stopped in front of Kane, peering up at him in its beady eyes. It was taller than him, with the hump, but its low-set head put them near at eye level. "I want to see it."

The Cerberus agent watched in his peripheral vision. Though her head remained pointed in the direction of the quietly conversing Commander Shepard and Aria, her eyes flicked over the krogan and she sent a clear message. _Don't pick a fight_. Saying nothing, but tensing her fists again. Ready to step to the plate if she needed it. Point in her favor, she was brave. _Krogan-_ kind were large monsters, about the same size as Ogryn. He could see the muscles abounding under its heavy plated armor. In a slugging match, it would probably crush any of them.

That's why he wouldn't throw a punch.

"Hey, are you deaf?" It took a heavy step forward, its weight setting off a small vibration through the floor. Kane took a deep breath, taking the tension in his body and spreading it evenly across his nerves. He fought down the knotting sensation in his muscles, the adrenaline trickling through his veins. A single drop of sweat dripped down his brow. It wasn't fear. This xenos was asking for a lasbolt through the face. It was a struggle to not oblige.

"Officer Lawson, if you would," he said, straining to keep the aggression out of his voice. The krogan's face crinkled in an ugly frown at the unfamiliar language. They all noticed it. It gaped, trying to understand, then its puny mind gave up and concentrated on something else.

"I don't know what that was, smartass. I want to see your gun."

Kane refused to look away from the creature. One thing consistent to all animals, eye contact established dominance. He would not give this one any sense of superiority. Miranda Lawson stepped in to intercept, an exasperated grimace on her face. She held one hand in front of the krogan, warding him back.

"He said no. It's a family heirloom."

"Touchy, huh?" The krogan shouldered her aside. She stumbled back with the impact, recoiling from its impressive strength.

Kane's fist snapped out and struck the xenos square in the nose. Unprepared for the blow, the krogan toppled over backwards, arms flailing. Quick as a flash, the Kasrkin leapt over the struggling monster and lifted an armored boot to stomp on its face. Then two bodies slammed him back against the wall, dropping back in an instant to train their rifles on him. Aria's guards screamed at him to not move, even as the krogan rolled over onto its stomach and shakily pulled itself up. Miranda scrambled up beside him, her sidearm holstered, hands up and glowing with biotic power.

"Stop!"

They all froze, even the guards. Eyes turned to the speaker. Aria stomped down from the balcony. The biotic power thrumming from her body warped the air, creating a shimmering outline. The guards backed away, lowering their weapons respectfully, even as they shot spiteful glances at Kane. For his part, he held his hands up and out, clear for inspection. Only the krogan remained moving, shuffling back to its feet and clutching at its bleeding nose.

"That human just-"

"I saw what it did." She stopped in front of the krogan and glared at it. The krogan must have weighed three times her, but it wilted and backed away submissively.

Miranda stood in front and slightly to the side, shoulders overlapping, protective of her comrade. The Cerberus agent met Aria's gaze, resisting visibly as the asari put a hand on her shoulder and gently but forcibly eased her out of the way. There was no threat in her posture, not more than could be expected. Curiosity bled through the irritation in her expression, and she pressed her face closer, squinting as if the effort would pierce the reflectionless material of his visor.

"I just watched a human level a krogan with one punch. That doesn't happen often. What is your name, human?"

"His name is Kane," Shepard answered, coming up behind her. Giving Kane a meaningful look, he tipped his head back. Kane understood, though he did not like it. But Shepard had demanded trust.

Bracing himself, he reached up and detached his helmet. The rebreather filters had done a good job of keeping out the narcotics-laced air. It tasted like sweet flowers and syrup. He could instantly taste it, and it soured this experience even more. Showing his face to a self-proclaimed crime lord was not helping either.

They studied each other for a long minute, neither blinking, neither speaking. For what it was worth, she had a very striking, memorable face. Berry-blue skin, unblemished by freckles of wrinkles, with a dark strip of tattooed ink splitting her chin below the lip. A similar tattoo graced her forehead, drawn in stylized imitation of eyebrows, connected by stylus-thin parallel lines. She was not entirely revolting, but Kane could not tear away his disgust at the glistening tentacles on the top of her head. This was nothing close to human, no matter how it appeared.

It was xenos, and it was a monster.

"Violet eyes…" she muttered, more to herself than him. Taking a step back, she pointed at the krogan. Her expression went from thoughtful to spiteful in an instant. "Do I have to remind you what a guest is? I invited these people in to talk, not to brawl. Get out of my sight, you useless worm."

The krogan cowered away and scurried out. It would have been comical how it feared the much smaller alien, but Kane was not watching. He retained his attention to the asari.

"I like this one," Aria stated. Her hand drifted dangerously close to Kane's face as she gestured at him. Kane tightened his jaw and pretended to not be imagining snapping her neck. "A little large for a human Where did you find him?"

"Around." Shepard shrugged.

"What's he saying? Why can't I hear him?"

His obvious refusal to offer more drew a pursed frown from the crime lord, but she left it at that. Returning to the balcony, she sat down and bade Shepard join her, and they resumed their talks. All as if nothing had happened. Kane put his helmet back on and gratefully sucked in a long breath of filtered air.

"Idiot," Miranda whispered, speaking softly so only Kane could hear. "What did Shepard say?"

"He struck first."

"I didn't need help."

"I'll keep that in mind next time an Ogryn-sized brute throws you halfway across the room."

"He didn't-"

She sighed loudly and fell silent, choosing to bottle in her aggravation. Kane loosened his muscles with a subtle shake, and replayed the moment in his head. That had been gratifying. Incredibly, indescribably gratifying. And now he had learned something. As big as the krogan were, they did not have the best center of gravity. And they were not so hard as he had expected.

At last, Shepard rejoined them and indicated it was time to leave. They moved out quickly, avoiding the angry guards. There was an aggressiveness there that had not been there before. They were mad. One of their own had gotten decked, and Aria had sided against them. But now they were dismissed, the audience was over. They were no longer guests, they were just people. Rules of hospitality were over.

"So what did we learn?"

"Aria gave me the location of Mordin Solus. Salarian scientist. He's in one of the living districts. Plague outbreak. Supposedly he's in there trying to cure it."

"What sort of plague?" Kane asked the question innocently enough, but his mind kicked into high gear. Plague outbreaks happened all the time on Imperial worlds. Most of them were fine, nothing to worry about. But there was always a chance…

"Not sure. But it is affecting non-humans only."

"Humans are resistant?"

"Aria believes that humans are immune to it."

Kane whistled. "That's useful."

Both shot him a warning look. None of the aliens in the _Afterlife Bar_ could understand him, but the effect might not have been lost. Kane shut his mouth anyways. He considered the possibility of a specialized xenos-plague. Something that only targeted non-humans. Either the xenos of this time had much less durable genetics, or the technology was that much more advanced. Kane found his steps faltering in his introspection.

"Something wrong, Kane?"

There was concern in Shepard's voice. The Kasrkin glanced over, weighing his thoughts before he spoke. This was not a conversation to have in public. Especially not in a bar filled with angry xenos.

"Another time, Shepard. You don't want to have this talk here."

"Why do I have feeling I won't like this talk?"

"Because you won't." Kane eyed the dancer that had approached them earlier. The woman-creature had slid off her seat at the bar and started an approach. "Left side."

Turning halfway to see the incomer, Shepard lifted his hand and made a cutting motion, stopping the asari mid-step. A disappointed pout formed on the dancer's lips, and she retreated to the bar for another round. Throne! This place truly was a pit of sin and vileness. Kane's skin itched for need of fresher air. If they were going into a district under quarantine, it was going to be a long day.


	5. Quarantine

**A/N: So after a short update to TWiF, figured you all would appreciate a faster turnaround here than I normally can pump out. One thing I am realizing as I rewrite/edit this story to make it publishable, is that doing a hard run-through of the game it utterly boring and hard to work with, so I have decided to keep the story as a whole, and push the right scenes, but for sake of artistic not-banging-my-head-through-concrete, to hell with staying true to the dialogue. There'll be bits and pieces, enough to make it recognizable.**

 **(Just broke through a massive writer's block, so kind of word-vomiting right now)**

 **IF THE WHOLE CHAPTER IS IN BOLD, CHECK YOUR SITE SETTINGS. (obligatory disclaimer, because I get multiple reviews every chapter about it)**

 **Reviewers:  
Ghazkull'sLeftEye- I know, right? Bubbly Shepard works well for a female one, in my opinion. Mostly because the best ME/40k crossovers I've read have bubbly but serious FemSheps. But Bubbly MaleShep just doesn't seem right at all.  
Mr Exterminatus- Hee. This isn't even the fun one.  
Taintlord- Perspective. Also, of course, Kane realizes very quickly that they aren't as intimidating as they first look.  
GustauveDrakenhime- Oh god, a shining Imperial officer. That's just begging for a 85% casualty rate every mission. Even Shepard can't recruit that many followers.  
FractiousDay- Kane's not supposed to be a plot mover. Mass Effect already has a plot.  
Guest- Tada!  
Manwithaplan113- "avoided" makes it sound like the chance is now behind them.  
BrotherCaptainShepard- I've noticed that many people have jumped on the Miranda/Kane boat fairly quickly. Angsty people, aintcha? Wink Wink.  
deadtrooper- Oh, you might not want he to wake up too soon. After all, Commissar. She's going to be greatly behind on her BLAM quota.  
kyro2009- woot!  
EmberFrame- Thank you  
Allard-Liao- He'll show up soon. Didn't want to make the intro to Omega too busy. Kane is a frail man with delicate sensibilities, after all.  
Carre- Miranda definitely has the personality and faith (in her own way) to be a full-blown SoB.  
Guest 2- Woot!  
coduss- Well, it IS Warhammer 40k. It ain't called grimdark for nothing. Trust me, just listen to the audio drama Red & Black about the Sisters of Battle. SJW's would foam at the mouth over that like PETA did over the Space Wolves.  
Jouaint- Thank you  
Disciple of Ember- You forgot the 'setting them on fire' part. Omega I thought was a good start for that particular reason. It isn't "here's the bright and shiny Mass Effect-verse and the Imperials realize that maybe aliens aren't bad." Instead, they get "Aliens aren't ALL bad, but here's a bunch of the assholes." Makes it much easier to push a realistic 40k perspective.  
SomeGuyOverHere- Kane is going to have a lot of those reactions over the story. "What the hell is melding?" That one... ooo boy  
ErnestShippinglane89- Yup, Louk is too much of a 'human being' to be a contrasting character. And dear god do I not need to create another 40k main character. It's painful enough that Louk has developed a group of like 12 side characters that each have entire books' worth of background in my head. If I added a brand new third OC, I'd spend months just thinking up the backgrounds of relations that will never appear in OtF because they didn't make the jump across. The chapters will probably vary in length. Depends on what happens in them. But they certainly won't be as long as the starter.  
grey- Of course krogan aren't as good as ogryns. Kane realizes that fairly quickly, but a real soldier will never assume his opponent is weaker than it could be.  
kukuhimanpr- Kane's being a blank will have some effect, but obviously it won't be incredibly important. Until you get to Indoctrination, or ardat yakshi...  
Nox- woo!  
Interested Guest- BAKA! DON'T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT! lol. I don't have a particular voice actor in mind. In all honesty, the characters I put the least amount of effort into describing in my own head are my mains. I kind of leave them as a blank slate, to let the reader fill it in.  
OBSERVER01- So much fun to picture that in my head.  
shadow- glad you liked it!**

* * *

 **Omega Markets**

Corporal Kyle Brunson, Maintenance Officer, Gryphon Squadron Theta of the 248th Cadian Interior Guard… was surrounded by xenos.

His entire life, he had been told that xenos were evil, that they were monsters and sorcerers and vile creatures. There was no redemption to them, nothing good of any kind in their warped minds. From the brutal and warlike Orks to the crafty shadow warriors of the Eldar warlocks, they all preyed upon humanity and sought the downfall of the Imperium. It had been that way since humanity had first stepped into the void of space, and always would be until the xenos were purged from the galaxy. The only option humanity had for xenos was war. Unrelenting, all-permissible war.

Then why did he not feel wrong? Why was he walking alongside Jacob Taylor and Kelly Chambers, humans of the Cerberus agency, an outlaw and reviled organization of pro-humanist ideology, striding across ringing metal grates in a sunken asteroid station, surrounded by xenos of every color and make imaginable, and it all felt… right.

To be sure, danger lurked all around them. The sullen atmosphere, coupled with darkly lit alleys and gang-affiliated mercenaries wandering the streets, all spoke of a culture of antagonism and greed. It was a wretched place. It was a dangerous place. Death stalked in the shadows, waiting for the subtle goads that could incite a murder or a fight at the slightest provocation. Those few humans he saw moved quickly and quietly, avoiding attention, trying to not be caught in any spotlight of note. The humans were a minority here, and they were not well-liked. The four-eyed race in particular, batarians they were called, showed only disdain and seething hatred for his own, whereas others looked down at the humans with contempt. Nothing was right here. Nothing matched up to the standards of Imperial citizenship that he knew so well.

He loved it. He loved the stink of oil and grease in the air. He loved the bright lights and the disorganized layout. He loved seeing so many new things and creatures. Even if they were the enemy. There was no moral threat here. Not in the way he considered it. Debauchery and sadism abounded, but he saw absolutely nothing of the Ruinous Powers. No hidden signs, no telltale mutations among the huddled masses. That reassured him more than anything. For all of his upbringing and learning about the xenos, the only enemy he had ever fought had been those of the Archenemy: the traitor cults in the Kasrs, and the apocalyptic hordes of the invaders. His mind had been exposed to so many tricks and blasphemies, and he recognized none of that here. These were ordinary sins, the kind he had found many times in untainted Kasrs.

He had no experience with xenos before today. So far, they didn't appear that much different. Not these ones, at least. He surveyed the merchants trading at stalls, noting how it was all familiar. Haggling over prices, veiled threats and promises, timing the walk-away to test the vendors. And he had seen far worse behavior from mercenaries and House-guards. It really wasn't anything special. He knew how to deal with all of this.

"You haven't said much" Jacob remarked, shooting him a sidelong glance. The ship's armorer had opted to bring pair of weapons, though of what kind he did not know. The collapsible technology amazed him. To take a full-sized longarm and condense it into a slab the size of his forearm required access to technology far beyond his understanding. Not to mention the concept of mass acceleration rounds and the way it shaved tiny grains and turned them into projectiles. And then there was the whole heat sink technology that he still barely understood.

"This place is intriguing."

Which was entirely true, even if not true entirely. Having achieved station in the Interior Guard, Kyle had never left Cadia in any way. His entire experience with civilization consisted of narrow, angular streets, building in drab colors, and variations of camouflage-patterned clothing. Everything had been designed with war in mind. The structure of the streets, the construction of the buildings, the confinement of all activities to indoors, all with the intent of being prepared in a moment's notice for a bloody fight for survival. Cadians returned from off-world often joked that Kasrs were "ghost cities" or "giant fracking cemeteries" whose occupants hadn't been clued in. The sheer saturation of color and experience here proved near overwhelming. He had a tight grip on his holstered sidearm, he realized. His knuckles were white from strain. Not because he expected trouble, but because he did not know what to expect. He needed familiarity.

Omega could not have been more different from Cadia. Lights everywhere, smells clashing and mingling from every opened door and window. Advertisers standing on the corners of streets, belting out their parent store's goods, or some service they could provide or acquire. They even passed a batarian standing on a supply crate, his dusky red suit overlaid with a stained white shawl, exhorting the crowd around with words that sounded vaguely religious. Of course the xenos had their own gods, he had thought to himself. False gods, not like the one true God-Emperor. But then… he wasn't here, was he? That troubling thought had gnawed at him ever since they had set foot on the _Normandy_. And the Kasrkin had clearly shown no interest in discussing the idea. Kyle doubted the Kasrkin had the ability to consider an alternative.

He had never met a Karskin before. The Interior Guard rarely interacted with Cadia's best-trained force. The few times Kasrkin had ever tasked to a deployment of the Interior Guard, they had always swooped in with little communication, completed their objectives, and left without a word to anyone save High Command. It was just a rumor, but he had heard a Kasrkin company commander had once executed an Interior Guard regimental commander for failing to properly deploy his regiment to counter a cultist uprising just a short year or so ago. What he did know, what he had seen, was the Kasrkin Sergeant Kane battle Traitor Astartes, and he was still alive. The man was a fiend. He fought like a daemon, and he handled changes like a servitor. They had not spoken much in the past days. Truth be told, he had been afraid to speak to the Kasrkin. There were not many things that scared him anymore. But Kasrkin were on that list for good reason.

"Intriguing, huh? That's the best you got?" Jacob smiled softly and pointed to the _Normandy's_ morale officer, sauntering on ahead of them, her head on a swivel. Judging by the looks she kept receiving, she was smiling at everyone. That was one thing he had not seen on Omega. Nobody smiled here. That wasn't much different from a Kasr. "She's walking about like she's in a market on Earth."

The man's statement broached a question he had been dying to ask. "You've been there, to Holy Terra? Earth?"

The armorer chuckled. "We don't exactly hold it in such high esteem as you all do. But yeah, I've been there a few times."

"What's it like?"

"It's... uh, normal. I don't know." Jacob's pensive frown deepened in thought. "Lots of green. The past century has seen a huge push for reforestation, and reclaiming the ecosystems that were more or less ravaged in the 2000s."

"And there are hive cities there?"

"There are cities, yeah. What do you mean by a hive city?"

He explained, and Jacob whistled in amazement.

"Yeah, we have nothing like that. Some of the larger cities do hold millions, but nothing like that."

"I'd love to see it." Kyle grinned despite himself. The very thought had him giddy. "I've heard so much about it. But no one goes to Terra. Not in our time. It is too well protected, too full."

"Well, we'll see if it comes up." Jacob patted Kyle on the shoulder. "Business first, though."

"Certainly." He found himself surprised to not be bothered by the man's touch. The first few days, he had been wary of them all. They were all strange humans, almost xenos themselves in their mannerisms, philosophy, and culture. Days of interaction had lessened the differences, somewhat. Not entirely, but enough that he almost felt at ease around them. More than at ease, he privately admitted as he let his gaze wander down the back of his other companion. There was something about the yeoman that he found incredibly… engaging. Perhaps it was her cheerfulness. Or the honesty behind everything she did. She was an agent, he knew that well enough, but she did not lie. That was more than he had ever expected from anyone.

He had chosen to wear the simpler fatigues of the Cerberus operatives. Theirs was not a combat mission, and where the Kasrkin's carapace armor was near fully enclosed, standard Imperial Guard flak left a lot of openings. It would not serve him well here, either as protection from gunfire or from inquiring eyes. The Kasrkin had approved it, grudgingly, but in the end the argument was valid. The less they stuck out, the better. Besides, this was human-made. It was not as if he was wearing armor made by a xenos. In deference to his heritage, though, he kept the laspistol. That settled the Kasrkin's suspicions, and it reassured the Cadian corporal that he had a weapon he could count on should trouble arise.

"Ooh!" Kelly Chambers suddenly veered off the main street, ducking into a well-lit sideroad. Hurrying to keep her in sight, the two men rounded the corner and found her ogling a humble kiosk manned by a slim alien in a fully sealed suit. It appeared environmental-oriented, Kyle noticed in an instant. There was little to no armor plating, and a rather prominent breathing apparatus occupied the front of a tinted visor. Curling blue script, or patterns, he did not know for certain, spread across its dirty grey suit. It did not look threatening in the slightest. If anything, it appeared more afraid of them.

"Quarians always have the things that you can't find on regular streets" Jacob muttered under his breath to Kyle as they followed the yeoman closer. "Their whole race is tech-oriented, and they make excellent scavengers and salvagers."

"I haven't seen one of them on the streets."

"Yeah, you don't see many of them. It's a long story."

That piqued his interest, but he kept quiet and chose to observe the exchange. From what he had seen, he expected a good deal of barter and haggling. That was one thing he had a hard time grasping. It wasn't right that humans should have to barter with xenos. On an Imperial world- well, the xenos wouldn't even be alive. So there was that. New time, he reminded himself with a quiet dissatisfied sigh. The main objective of their trip was the find the T6-FBA couplings that Engineers Donnelly and Daniels had requested for the ship. Whatever those were, they were important. Which made Kyle question why they were trudging the streets of a place like Omega for them, rather than going through official Ministorum channels. Surely the _Normandy_ had high-enough priority for requisitions. Why were they going about this in such a mundane way?

He liked the Engineers. They preferred to go by their first names, Ken and Gabby, and they loved to talk. Mostly they liked to yell at each other and throw some rather inventive insults. While not remotely on the same level as tech adepts of the Mechanicus, they seemed to know what they were doing. Their confusion when he had remarked on the lack of cybernetic augments had only confused him as well. What sort of engineer did not appreciate the benefits of a servo arm, or the strange mechadendrites that Mechanicus adepts took advantage of. He had briefly queried about their knowledge of the Martian path, and they had laughed the idea off as ludicrous.

Ludicrous! These were such strange times.

Which did not even touch on how different the military environment was here. Sergeant Kane had unilaterally dismissed this time's military as "undisciplined, untrained rabble," and he was right. In a way. There was no talk of purges, or Commissariat inspections. Crew members of the _Normandy_ had access to entertainment, to good food, and standard sleep cycles. It was a far cry from anything he had known in the Cadian Interior Guard, although the Commander had assured them that infantry units maintained much stricter lifestyles. Life on ships, with this ship being an exception, were also very disciplined and frugal. The _Normandy_ was an exception to the rule in so many ways. It was not proper military, which accounted for certain discrepancies from the normal standards. Which wasn't to say the crew here were poor at their jobs. Each crew member he had spoken with presented as competent and loyal. They knew their tasks, and they performed them admirably.

It struck him as so incredibly odd that these humans spoke of the times as being one of peace. Peacetime. That was a myth, in his time. Even when Cadia was technically at 'peace,' by definition inferring there were no active enemy forces of magnitude exceeding one hundred thousand bodies, the Interior Guard had its hands full in maintaining order and stability as cults inevitably rose and fell like clockwork. So close to the dreaded Eye of Terror, it was natural to consider every waking moment one of war. Even when not on anti-cultist deployment, the war preparations were endless. Months-long training cycles, building and teardown of fortresses, live fire drills incorporating artillery and naval support. These people were on an active mission, with an active foe, with stakes threatening the fate of the entire human race, allegedly, and they considered the galaxy to be at peace.

Kelly stepped away from the vendor and motioned for them to come closer. They did, with Kyle keeping his attention trained on the xenos. Just in case. The shop was in a sad state. Merchandise and parts stood in disorganized piles as tall as his shoulder, and rusty condensation dripped from the overhead boards that provided meager protection from the harsh lights coming down from the asteroid ceiling. Most of the pieces were junk, as far as he could tell. What could they possibly find here?

"So… I have good news and bad news" she told them.

"Kelly…" Jacob's tone gave cautious warning to Kye.

"Oh, don't give me that look." She winked at him. "So Mister Kenn here has a T6-FBA, believe it or not. And it's in pretty good condition too."

"Great. So let's buy it and go."

"But!" She cleared her throat and shot them both an apprehensive look. "You see, he's in a bit of a tight spot. He's on his pilgrimage, and when he got here he, well, he got hoodwinked. His current setup is he works for this mean old Elcor, somewhere up that way," she pointed obligingly, "and he's making poor Kenn here spot exorbitant prices. We _can_ afford the coupling, mind you, but it's pretty ridiculous. Now, I think I have a plan."

"No. Kelly, whatever you are thinking-"

"Jacob! We're the good guys here." She made a pouting face. It was adorable. Almost enough so to make Kyle want to listen. But he knew where this was going. She wanted to help a xenos. That wasn't their problem. It wasn't their job, nor should it be. He opened his mouth to voice his own opinion, but Kelly kept taking. "Look, all I want to do is go see this elcor, see what kind of deal we can work out to get Kenn… released from his obligations. And then, hey, maybe we have enough left over in the budget to help him get off this rock."

"So you want to help a xenos from another xenos, then give this xenos our money, just because?" Kyle voiced his disbelief.

"Well, when you put it like that it doesn't sound nice." Her pout turned full on him, and he almost felt guilty in the crosshairs of her ire. "He looks like he could use the help. He isn't going to find it anywhere else, you know. And we have a pretty big budget."

"I am not comfortable with this" the Cadian grumbled.

"Lucky for Kenn, you aren't in charge." She poked Jacob in the chest. "Come on, Jacob, You know you want to."

"Kelly, I really-"

"Excellent! This way. Keep up!"

Leaving both men staring, she patted their cheeks and started off. Kyle stared after her, before swallowing his confusion and hurrying to join her. It was an automatic, built-in response. Follow the primary, ensure safety. When in doubt, instincts out. Keeping his hand on the butt of his sidearm, he caught up quickly, followed a moment later by the muttering Jacob Taylor.

"She's a force of nature" the armorer said.

"I heard that" she said sweetly, turning her head to flash them both a brilliant smile. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"What the frack is going on" Kyle asked himself. Jacob helpfully answered.

"I think you're about to see an elcor cry."

So this was life in the late third millennium. He bit back an exasperated sigh. It could be worse. They weren't getting shot at.

 **-v-**

Shepard stepped off the elevator, inspecting his pistol's heat sink for any signs of wear. They were past the last guard post, and all semblance of order now. Checking the sight of his M6 Carnifex again, he stepped clear of the tube and let the others spread out. The last guards had been clear in their warning. If you were human, expect a bullet-laden welcome mat. One had even helpfully noted that they were crazy for coming down here. Kane hadn't been too keen on that one. That guard better pray he never stumbled on the Cadian later.

"It's quiet" Kane muttered, hellgun sweeping the corners with practiced ease.

He was not wrong. The district was silent, almost like a graveyard. The chilled air clung to their armor, threatening wispy vapors of fog on the corners of his visor. It felt like dread, and fear. Not physically, of course. But it was there. A sense of wrongness in the air, mostly in the absence of the usual sounds. Just fifty feet up and through the elevator, everything was bright and loud and the air was filled with scents. Here it was quiet, silent, cold. Like a tomb.

His mind drifted for a moment to Freedom's Progress. It had been spooky, walking through a deserted colony. Shepard was man enough to admit it. That had been understandable though. When he opened a door to find a pile of building blocks half-assembled into a tower, the rest carefully laid out with child-minded precision, abandoned in the middle of construction. Or the casually discarded clothing of a couple engaging in intercourse, the shower pattering weakly on the glass. That had been entirely, one hundred percent, spooky.

This was not spooky. The unease that rose in his gut had nothing to do with vivid imaginary pictures of what had happened to the missing colonists. Here, there was real danger. Enemies could be around any corner. Ambushes could be anywhere, or roving patrols of looters or Blue Suns.

He hated the Blue Suns. They were mercenaries with no moral compass. In his time with the Alliance he had killed more than a few. They were not above raiding Alliance space, and sometimes even Alliance military targets, if the pay was good enough. Though they claimed to be a private security company, they were just pirates. Stupid, greedy pirates, with no oversight and no greater goal than acquiring money and power.

And the Blue Suns were in the district. Ostensibly to keep the peace, but Shepard did not have to delve too far into the situation to understand the real reason. The plague would go away, one way or another. Either it would die off after killing the population, or it would be cured. Either way, with so much real estate opening up from the death toll, they intended to secure the district and become the new landlords. Even on Omega, personal living quarters were expensive. Getting a personal suite, even if was the size of a closet, cost an arm and a leg. And that money could go directly to the Blue Suns, if they retained control once the people started flowing back in. And they would. They always did. The Blue Suns just had to wait out the plague.

That had been the plan. Once the Blood Pact had caught on, the district had deteriorated into an odd turf war, with both sides fighting over uninhabitable real estate. In a way, it was the best kind of turf war Shepard could ask for. Almost no civilian bystanders, and the two organizations were fighting tooth and nail for the territory. They were dying in droves on both sides. Shepard did not weep for either group's casualties. They were all scum. The only losers here were the people avoiding the plague, caught in the crossfire.

Unique as Omega was, it also had the distinction of being one of the few places where mercenary organizations like the Blue Suns, or the Blood Pact, operated in large numbers in such close proximity. There were leaders here, for each group, but multiple smaller detachments that operated under supervision. As far as Shepard could tell, this battle for the district was almost a gentleman's war. The two leaders and most of the organizations, of course they were not friendly, maintained civility and did not shoot at each other. It was only in the district. The two sub-leaders of the opposing groups were in it on their own. If either succeeded, it would be a win for them. If they failed, well, there were always new opportunities on Omega. The casual disregard the leaders had for their men astounded him. And it sickened him to think that such men still could rise to power.

Forcing the thoughts aside, he concentrated on the mission at hand. Mordin Solus was out there, near the center of the district. It would not be an unopposed journey. But it did not have to be a shooting gallery either. Motioning for Kane and Miranda to flank, he took the center of the street. Until they established hostile contact, there was no point in crawling along. They would not be encountering highly trained assassins here. Only rent-a-thugs with standard gear.

"Keep your eyes peeled" he reminded them, perhaps unnecessarily. "Ask first, shoot second. I will initiate any contact."

They moved quickly, but with caution. The lights were muted here, compared to the rest of the station. Dedicated living districts drew less power as it was, and with the onset of the plague Aria had given the order to cut main generator access. Redundant local generators kept things powered, but they did not have the combined juice of the asteroid's main systems. What came out of that was flickering street lights, and the whisper-quiet echo of air recyclers. The quiet kept him on edge. But he trusted his instincts to protect him, and his comrades to warn him of danger.

He had no doubt they both could. Miranda hugged the right side of the street, her M9 Tempest a pointer for his vision, inspecting anything and everything as it revealed itself. Her expression was grim and focused, and her free hand curled in a half-fist, ready to summon her biotics should the need arise. Sergeant Kane, on the other hand, moved with the experience of a man used to urban combat. His hellgun never ceased moving, smoothly tracking from windows to doorways, clearing each alley, ducking from cover to cover as if aware of some invisible sniper attempting to draw a bead on him. His body language and ease of motion told Shepard he was used to urban combat. Moreso than Shepard was.

Urban combat was a fading memory to the Systems Alliance. He knew what it was, he had seen plenty of footage from the old wars on Earth, and from the more recent First Contact War. The battle for Shanxi had been a nightmare, by all accounts. The human military had not been prepared for the overwhelming technology and firepower of the turian fleet. True urban combat though, Shepard had never seen it. He had fought in cramped space stations, on board ships, and in the more open colony prefabricated style. But not urban combat like this. Where there was just enough space to get comfortable, but not enough space to breathe easy. The Cadian had an advantage here, over most. It was rare to have open conflict of any significant scale in a civilized city anymore. Usually that was reserved to ships and colonies.

Which was not to say he had never practiced for urban combat. The path to N7 had led through thousands of hours of training for every combat situation. Shepard knew the theory behind urban combat. He knew the theory behind every combat. But knowing and experiencing were two different things. It would be interesting to see how Kane handled himself here. And to see how their styles of combat differed.

Shortly after setting out, Shepard noted a green glow emanating from above the Cadian's left wrist. It had not been there when they had stepped off the elevator. It was not an omnitool, but it offered some sort of aid, because the man consulted it often. Just as he did before the street reached an intersection, and he signalled them to halt with a very familiar raised fist. Crossing over to his side, Shepard took a position behind the Cadian and inspected the device.

It was built into the armored sleeve, with a small screen the size of an ancient smartphone, and several dials and buttons next to it. From a quick glance, it reminded him of a radar-type device. He counted the two dots beside the central ping, himself and Miranda, and three more to their forward and left. Two together, and one a little further away by itself.

"That what I think it is?"

"Auspex." Kane offered no more than that. Lifting his fingers, he indicated the two contacts, then the lone third, to Miranda. "Middle of the street, I would assume. And one near the buildings. Distance, thirty meters, forty meters."

"Trouble" Miranda asked, peering past Shepard's shoulder to inspect the device.

"No idea. This is your world, not mine." Kane closed the cover of the device, smothering its light. "What are your orders, Shepard?"

He chewed on the question for five seconds. "Keep me covered. I will advance and initiate. Follow my lead, don't shoot unless it is necessary."

They both agreed, and Shepard holstered his Carnifex. Taking a short breath, he pushed off into the middle of the street and took the corner. They would have his back. He had nothing to worry about.

This was his first firefight. First real firefight, at least. He did not count Freedom's Progress of the station where he had awoken. Those were damaged drones. Dangerous, of course, but not a trained threat. This would be a real test. A test of what had been recovered, and what he had lost. His palms itched as he pondered what it would be like to kill again. Would it be the same surge of elation, fear, and shame he had felt back in the infantry? That was a face he would never forget. The PanAm separatist, wearing civilian-grade military surplus, armed with a gunpowder automatic. That was the day he had realized that the military was his only life. Would be his only life. That was the day he had learned to kill, and it had been a bitch. He did not need to go through that again.

The two contacts together were Blue Suns mercenaries. The unease fled into his veins, losing itself in the sudden flow of adrenaline that kicked in at the refreshingly familiar sight of armed hostiles. Turians, they stood near the center of the road, idly strutting forward, their loose posture betraying their lack of interest in what was probably a routine patrol. Their armor had been augmented by environmental protection, a necessity in a plague zone. It limited their peripheral vision, and slowed down their reaction times due to the weight.

But they were still armed.

They saw each other at the same time. Shepard kept his arms out, in easy reach of his sidearm, ignoring the M99 Mattock assault rifle on his back. The heavy pistol would do the trick against lightly armored mercenaries. The Mattock was still a new weapon to him, cooked up in a Cerberus-affiliated weapons research lab. Limited to single-fire, but quick to shot and powerful for its class. It struck him as more of a marksman rifle, and he liked that.

One turian moved to the side, the other advanced quickly, rifle trained on the Spectre.

"Stop right there, human! This is Blue Suns territory."

"Relax, I'm just looking for a friend." Shepard showed his hands. "There's a salarian down here named Mordin Solus. You heard of him?"

"That bastard?" The closer turian lowered his rifle for a moment, and motioned for his comrade to join him, then lifted the rifle again. "You're a friend of his?"

"Sort of. Will be. I need to talk to him."

"You're heavily armed for a man going to visit a 'sort of' friend."

"Heard this place was a bit dangerous." Shepard shrugged. "Am I wrong?"

"No, you're right." The speaker muttered something to his comrade, too low to hear. "Doubly so for you. That salarian bastard killed some of my buddies not too long ago. Get on your knees. I'm taking you in to see our commander. He'll decide whether or not he likes your story."

"Sure." Shepard tried to not look at the shimmer of motion that was Miranda circling around to his right. He had no sight on Kane. For now, he complied, and slowly lowered himself to his knees. "What then?"

"If you're lying, we'll shoot you. Can't be too careful, especially since you _humans_ are so conveniently free of the plague."

"And if I am telling the truth?" He could see them both tightening their grip on their rifles. They were nervous. Must have been new.

"Then you're a friend of an enemy of the Blue Suns." The turian seemed to think that was all the answer Shepard required. The unspoken half was implied well enough. Shepard frowned. This was not going to end peacefully. His finger twitched in anticipation of speed-drawing his Carnifex.

The first one started to close in on Shepard, while the other kept a weapon trained on his chest. It was their last mistake.

"Now, keep that hand up and away from that sidearm, human. Wouldn't want t-"

Kane's massive armored bulk exploded out of the shadows, snatching up the rearmost turian like a vengeful spirit. One hand slipped around over the turian's neck, his powerful limb crushing through the environmental gear and the alien's windpipe. Not bothering to offer the alien a clean death, he twisted and hurled it to the side, sending it tumbling like a doll. The man's broad knife slipped free of its scabbard as he bounded forward to the second turian.

The survivor hesitated when his partner fell. He couldn't see it, of course, with his attention on Shepard, but he must have heard something over his radio when his squadmate fell. The rifle twitched up, misaligning, and Shepard dove to the side. Drawing his pistol, he spun over onto his back and lifted up to sight on the turian's head. It was unnecessary. The Cadian reached him just as it turned to check on its partner. Foregoing the knife, he grabbed the turian by the chestpiece and hurled it straight to the ground.

Every native-born turian served in the military. Even those on colonies served in the military. The whole concept of the Turian Hierarchy's military revolved around conscripted service. If these turians had been in the military, even if they hadn't, turians were tough and strong. They had evolved from avian predators, and their physiology retained that lean grace and explosive power. It took effort to shift them, unless you knew martial arts or hit them with the right leverage. But only a krogan could physically pick up a full-grown turian and hurl it to the ground as if it weighed nothing. And that is exactly what Kane did. Dropping onto the turian's chest, Kane threw a punch that cracked the turian's visor. A second punch, delivered with the same lightning speed, shattered the visor and drew blood. The third punch accompanied a crunching sound, and a whole lot of turian blood on the Cadian's knuckles.

Rising from the turian's corpse, he turned back to the first one and almost mechanically hurled his knife into the gasping mercenary's chest. Shepard pulled himself to his feet, pistol lowering to its holster. He did not need to check and confirm that they were both dead. Stepping over to the closest, Shepard inspected the ruins of the mercenary's face and grimaced. Kane might as well have taken a hammer to it. The turian's crest had been thoroughly shattered, and a thick gooey layer of blood drowned half of his features. The physical trauma, coupled with shattered mandibles being driven into its brain, must have killed it instantly. Brutal, efficient.

He did not bother inspecting the second one. The Cadian had retrieved his knife and, lacking a soft surface on the turian's armored plates, wiped the blood on his pants. It was such an odd thing, to see a man wearing soft clothes in a combat situation. The general inclusion of armored hardsuits in everything from professional military to low-level mercenary bands meant that suits like Sergeant Kane's were rare and far between. So was the knife. And the way he just used it. It was eye-opening to see his speed in action. And to see the viciousness of his fighting. It reminded Shepard of a well-trained attack varren.

Miranda slunk out of the shadows, her weapon trained further down the road. She paused her vigil just long enough to glance down at the fallen, her own response masked. "One further down, not a Blue Suns. It appears to be civilian, and wounded."

"One of those batarian things" Kane agreed, slotting his knife back into its scabbard. The Cadian spared the turian a quick look. "Hmp, they are not as soft as they look. Their whole body armored like that?"

"Turians developed a carapace as they evolved" Shepard answered. He motioned for them to keep moving. "Palaven has a weak metallic core, which means heavy radiation, and they evolved to counter it."

"Noted. So these are the Blue Suns." The Cadian grunted something under his breath. EDI still had not developed translation for some of their words. Probably because they had no clear correlation. Shepard had heard this particular vocalization enough times to assume it was a curse or epithet. "Don't seem to have much training. That was easier than roping a mind-neutered _grox_."

As curious as he was to what a _grox_ was, Shepard ignored the jab. "These won't be the Blue Suns elite down here. This district is seeing a pissing match between low-tier Blue Suns and Blood Pact bosses. It is important enough to fight over, but not important enough to sink significant resources into. Most of them will probably be recruits."

"So we're fighting conscripts."

"More or less." Shepard waved them to silence as he caught sight of the third contact. It was a batarian, as Kane had said. Gutshot, judging by the blood leaking through the fingers held over its belly. But that wasn't what was killing it. Oily blood spilled from its mouth and nostrils, red tinted dark to a near black. It streaked messily down the batarian's clothes, discoloring the dull orange fabric like bloody gashes. The skin around its cartilage was taut and pale, an unhealthy white against its richer chestnut flesh.

Its head lolled weakly in their direction, and it panted. "Humans, should have guessed. What, you are here to…" it coughed pathetically, gurgling through the spittle and blood "...to start looting?"

Dropping to a knee, Shepard opened his omnitool and started scanning. The orange light washed over the batarian, who made a show of trying to push him away, but hardly mustered the strength to even lift its hand. Settling for a soft growl, it stared defiantly at Shepard.

"Go… away. Let me die in peace."

The medical scan returned two results. The first, the easy one, noted the fragmented bullet shrapnel lodged in the batarian's midsection. It had been a close-range shot, and the pieces were still hot, meaning it had to have been fired just minutes ago. Probably by the two now-dead turians. A quick patch of medigel would heal most of the damage, and at least keep the batarian whole until he could receive proper medical attention.

But the second result came back inconclusive. An overwhelming trace result of a biological irregularity, spread through the blood and tissue and, well, everywhere. It must have been the plague, the one Mordin Solus had come down here to stop. Whatever it was, it was pervasive. It spread through the blood cells, infecting everything, but it was not the spread of the infection that mattered. The batarian's digestive systems were collapsing, the pituitary gland was rotting, and other vital organs unique to batarian physiology showed signs of deterioration. It was thorough, and it was deadly. Nothing medigel could do against that. But maybe Mordin Solus had made progress in developing a cure.

To tell the truth, Shepard still new less about the salarian than he would have wanted. STG history, everything redacted. Even the Illusive Man had only uncovered a portion of the agent's dossier, at least he claimed to have. From what Shepard had learned, this Mordin Solus was a leader in biogenetics and the like. He was a true scientist, and they needed that sort of brainpower to fight the Collectors. And he was STG, of course, so he had plenty of military experience too.

"Hold still." Shepard activated the medigel dispenser and aimed at the bullet wound. "This will sting a bit."

The medigel ejected onto the wound. Kane shifted uneasily behind them.

"Stay with me. This isn't going to cure you, but it will help."

"Great. So I can die slower." The batarian spat up a glob of bloody saliva. "Curse you humans and this damned plague. I hope they kill you all for it."

"Yeah, yeah. Blame the humans." Shepard applied a small coat of medigel to the batarian's face. It wouldn't help the infection, but it might ease the pain and some of the symptoms. The alien sighed as the gel took effect. Its pain visibly eased. "We're looking for a salarian, named Mordin Solus. He's here working on a cure. You know where he is?"

"Middle of the district. You… can't miss it" the batarian grumbled. "I hope the vorcha burn that human sympathizers' clinic to the ground."

"Sure they will. When you feel up to walking, follow us there. He might have something to help you."

Rising to his feet, Shepard gestured for them to resume walking. He bit back his own irritation at the batarian. It wasn't different than what he had expected. Batarians were batarians. They trusted no one, hated everyone. That sort of response was exactly what he hated about them. Lying bleeding in the gutters, dying of plague, and when offered help the only thing they have is contempt. It was hard to like batarians. Even the good ones.

"So what did that accomplish?" Kane had not returned to the shadows of the streetsides. He walked proudly alongside Shepard, unafraid. Perhaps his first brush with the Blue Suns had boosted his confidence. That could be dangerous. Overconfidence could bite at any soldier.

"What did what accomplish?"

"Wasting your, medical kit, on that thing."

"It was the right thing to do. There doesn't have to be a purpose to it." Again, he heard the cursing. "I take it you disapprove?"

"We might be needing that spray you wasted."

"It wasn't a waste," Shepard growled. He was rapidly getting tired of the Cadian's xenophobia. Not that Shepard was unused to the kind. There were plenty of human rights groups in Alliance space, all preaching the same nonsense about human purity and superiority. That's what Cerberus believed, after all. But Sergeant Kane was a whole other case to himself. He was unyielding, and unbending. The human supremacists all claimed that humans were better than humans the aliens. With Kane, they weren't any better than animals.

"It didn't seem keen on thanking you for your… mercy."

"And it's a good thing I don't do things for gratitude. I am a soldier, not a politician. You said you would follow my orders. Is this a problem?"

"No. Just commenting."

"You're allowed that." Shepard ground the words out through his teeth.

"It is going to be dead in hours anyways. I don't need to be a medicae to tell that this plague has a firm hold on it."

"Well maybe I want to believe he won't be!" Shepard rounded on the Cadian and shoved his hand into the larger man's chest, stopping him. His blood boiled at the man's clinical observation. It was cold, heartless, and it was correct. The batarian wasn't going to last long, even if the bullet wound hadn't been there. Shepard doubted it would have survived long enough to reach the salarian's clinic on its own power, assuming there even was a cure there. That did not mean he would have left the man to die. All lives were worthing saving. Even the ones he didn't like. "Sergeant, you can spout your xenophobic bullshit all day long, I don't even care, to be honest. I get it. Your time sucked. The people sucked, the aliens sucked. Everything fucking sucked. We. Aren't. Fucking. There. If I choose to save a life, it's because it's worth saving. If I choose to shoot someone, it's because they are worth shooting. Do you understand?"

His left hand was shaking, slightly, clenching and unclenching by his side. The slightly ragged breathing tearing at his lungs told him he had been shouting, even if he hadn't quite realized it. If there had been observers or bystanders, they would have all been staring. Miranda was, in a not-staring sort of way. Standing off to the side, her attention ostensibly down the street, but the tension in her body language was obvious. Of course, he couldn't read Kane's face. Not through his opaque visor.

"Understood" the Cadian's voice gave no indication of his response. Placing a hand over Shepard's, the larger man pushed it away. "As I said, I was just commenting."

He took a deep breath, expelling the anger, and took a step back. "Then maybe it's better you keep those comments to yourself."

"Yes, sir."

They continued onwards, and Shepard chided himself for losing control like that. Inexcusable. They were on a mission, and he had lost his temper. Over something so simple and insignificant. That was not the sort of leader he was. That was not the soldier he was. In his years with the Alliance, he had dealt with far worse than the cruel sniping of a dissatisfied subordinate.

Or maybe he hadn't. This was different. Everything about them was different. The way they moved, talked, thought. That was one thing Shepard had noticed right away about them. Being a soldier was not an occupation to Sergeant Kane. He _was_ a soldier It was his life. Shepard considered himself to be a professional soldier. He had gone through years of training, combat, promotions, and all of it had come with a degree of hardship most others in uniform never saw. But, at the end of the day, it was his job. A job he loved, and a job he was damn good at. But Kane did not consider his soldiery to be a career. It was his beginning and his ending. Very few Alliance soldiers expected to die in combat, these days. There just weren't that many battles. Kane's dossier, which he had provided after Shepard had expressed interest, had thirty engagements in it. Thirty. And not a one composed of less than company-sized combat. And only one against a force composed of less than a thousand enemies. Kane wasn't just a soldier. He was a weapon. Weapons did not think for themselves, nor did they grasp a bigger picture. Point, aim, fire. There wasn't room for anything else. Such a simple thing, giving medigel to a wounded batarian. That was outside of his thought processes. It wasn't that he did not want to consider it. Shepard doubted he even could.

The other reason it had galled him, was because Shepard recognized that attitude. In his early years as a Serviceman Third Class, fresh out of basic training, he had been filled with hate. His first combat deployment had been against turian pirates, a small-time gang that had chosen to prey upon shipping lanes under Alliance protection. It had been a swift and brutal series of engagements with frigate-sized ships. There weren't prisoners in those battles. The pirates all had bounties on their heads from Citadel authorities. Not that Shepard had needed incentive to leave none alive. Every turian he killed was vengeance for his father, an N7 that had perished in the siege of Shanxi. Those first years in the Alliance, Shepard had taken great pleasure in killing turians. More than any other alien they fought. It wasn't until years later, after numerous disciplinary boards, and long visits with his mother, that he had learned to forgive.

He still remembered that anger. That fire had kept him going through Hell Week. Through Akuze. The pleasure he'd found in carving off a turian's mandibles while it screamed for death. That part of his life was long gone. It shamed him to think of what he had done, now. What a monster he had been, and almost become for good. It had all ended at Torfan, when Shepard had stared into the abyss, and flinched. That wasn't a path he ever wanted to see again. And now a living reminder was walking alongside him.

"Commander Shepard."

Kane's gruff voice waked him from his morose thoughts. Eager for something to take his mind away, Shepard checked his map and told them to take a right. This district was surprisingly large for being jammed into an asteroid.

"What are the odds this xenos doctor of yours has made a cure?"

"No idea."

"In my time, it takes years to counter and defeat plagues. Even the normal ones."

"Years?" He scoffed at the thought. "How bad is your medical system?"

"Our medical systems do not concern themselves with countering plagues and outbreaks. They merely heal. It is the Magos that deal with such events."

"I understand what you mean. On Earth, the CDC does the research into stopping outbreaks wholesale. But it can't be that hard. With all the technology you'd have after tens of thousands of years."

"A lot of that was lost." The Kasrkin's boots stomped ominously on the metal grating. "I spoke with your medicae, Doctor Chakwas. She mentioned how our… _immune system_ is much more robust than yours, that our bodies are incredibly resilient to disease and the like."

"Yes, she said that you have developed an incredibly durable immune system, probably evolved over time."

"Then I am sure you can understand that a disease which would affect and spread through us at a comparable level to how a disease would spread in your time, what sort of apocalypse it could unleash were it brought here."

"So you are saying that the diseases of your time are all super-diseases?"

"Just that you shouldn't judge a Whiteshield until you shoot him."

"I… what?"

Even Miranda stole a bemused look back at the Cadian.

"Your problem, Shepard, is that you keep assuming I am like you."

"You're a human, just like we are."

"No, I am not. This isn't the time or place to have this discussion, but when we get back on the ship, I believe we need to have another talk. To set straight the issues that we are having, and are going to continue to have as long as you keep up this foolish pretense that I am going to become like you. I am not like you, Shepard. Stop trying to pretend otherwise."

Uncertain of what to say in response, Shepard merely nodded and kept going. Again, the man was right, even though it rankled him to admit the truth. These Cadians were so incredibly different they may as well be aliens themselves. He started to wonder if bringing Kane along had been a mistake, just like everyone had said. Hell, even Kane had pointed it out. What was he doing here? What was he trying to accomplish? Proof that Kane could function like one of them? Establish a common bond to help convince Kane to join them? Shepard wasn't even sure anymore.

 **-v-**

Their first real contact with the Blue Suns mercenaries came minutes after the the Commander lost his temper.

She debated whether or not to put that in her report. The Cadian had deserved it, arguably. The Commander had been well within his rights to address the Cadian's grumbling, and the manner in which it occurred could be excused. A living weapon such as that could only be controlled in a select few ways. Had it been any other agent, she most certainly would have disapproved. This was not another agent, however. This was the Cadian. The usual ploys and maneuvers did not work with him. Not that her opinion mattered, the matter had ended, but she privately thought that the Commander had handled it well enough. The outburst was forgivable. They had not been in hostile contact, the streets had been clear. As legendary as he was, the Commander was only human. EDI's readings on his stress levels had given her great concern, even before these strangers had arrived. With those numbers climbing daily, the Commander needed an outlet to relieve the 'steam,' so to speak.

All that aside, the Commander had not disappointed yet. All projections had listed a marked drop in effectiveness for at least a standard month, improving over time with expedited reintroduction to the modified timeline. The Commander had bounced back like a rubber ball, outwardly projecting the confidence and efficiency he had been known for before his death. Inwardly, the man was a mess. They needed to find a way to alleviate that soon. Even a man with such incredible force of will could only go so long before he broke down.

That could be dealt with later. At the moment, Miranda busied herself with toggling the disrupter mod on her Tempest submachine gun. Satisfied with the selection, she inched forward to the edge of the wall and glanced downrange. It was a Blue Suns barricade, the prefabricated kind composed of a heavy composite rampart with a raised walkway and chest-high protection. The single gate, large enough for a krogan to squeeze through, locked into place by pneumatic clamps, reading to drop down at the push of a button, but until then, it did not move. These sorts of temporary barricades were favored by anyone and everyone with the money to afford them because they were sturdy, easily transported, and effective. Small arms fire did nothing to the thick plates of the barricade, and defenders on the other side had numerous gunports to shoot through. It usually took at least a squad to assault one of these, assuming five or so defenders. Judging by the number of voices on the other side, there were more than five.

"This is a problem," she muttered to them both. Ever vigilant, her attention whisked around the courtyard leading to the barricade, searching for anything that might help. She and the Commander spotted it at the same time. "Balcony, directly above us."

The courtyard was faced on three sides by multi-story habitation units. Someone wealthy must have lived here, because they had shipped in actual marble for use in crafting an expansion over the leftmost unit, a nice-looking, for Omega, collonaded balcony with modified ferns treated to grow in low-light conditions. The Commander stole off to find the stairs that led to the second floor, a position that would give him an advantage over the barricade, while the Cadian studiously inspected the glowing green device on his wrist.

"At least fifteen," the Cadian told her. "Possibly more. Their signals are too tight for an accurate reading."

Fifteen versus three. This was such a Commander Shepard situation. She closed her eyes for a moment, unwilling to let the Cadian see the frustration building on her face. Her free hand began to flex as she nudged the eezo nodes in her body, awakening the power, feeling the subtle surges of energy spiking into her muscles.

"Miranda, I am in position. Assault the barricade, try and draw them out. I will provide overwatch."

The Commander's voice blared loud and clear in her ear, even though he whispered. Bringing the Tempest up to rest against her chest, the disruptor icon blinking welcomingly on the side, she pointed to Kane and gestured across the way.

"I take left, you take right. Keep yourself protected, and shoot straight."

"There isn't any other way to shoot" the Cadian growled. His hellgun emitted a near-imperceptible whine as he flicked the power setting to medium. Her curiosity would finally be sated as to the killing power of the weapon. The video footage from the armory had left her with a sense of unease. It was horrific, but that was not what had worried her. They had no defense against it. Of any kind. The worst weapons, no matter how powerful, were the ones you could not stop.

The first spitting crack of the Commander's Mattock initiated combat. Responding with superhuman speed, she whipped around the corner, chasing the gunfire and searching for targets as she scurried behind a column for cover. Confusion reigned on the other side of the barrier. A full three seconds passed before return fire sounded. The thunderous hail shattered marble and stonework, sending the Commander scurrying for new cover. A lone Blue Suns mercenary leapt up onto the rampart, his omnitool glowing brightly as he toggled an ammunition mod onto his rifle. That would not do.

She pooled the biotic pulse into her fist, whole arm tingling with barely-restrained energy, and channeled it out in a powerful **throw.** Humans were perhaps the second most powerful biotic race in the galaxy, arguably third behind krogan in natural ability, but above them in potential. But no one could hold a candle to the asari. With a high, near total percentage of their population having biotic potential, and their most powerful biotic users able to take on dozens at a time, the asari monopolized the biotic pyramid. Even the most proficient human with the best mods could only hold their own against a mid-tier asari biotic user.

Nothing about Miranda Lawson was ordinary, however. Her father had seen to that. Genetic enhancements had not only increased her physical prowess and biology, but it had also unlocked biotic potential that no human _should_ have. Her technique was mechanical, her abilities precise. While she would never match an asari in form, in a direct power struggle she could handle her own.

Her **throw** caught the unsuspecting Blue Suns rifleman just as his weapon icon flashed red for incendiary. A muted yelp cut short the instant it emerged, and the body hurtled out of sight like it had been slung from a ballista. The sound of impact could not be heard over the chattering gunfire, but she did hear the curses of Blue Suns mercenaries.

"They're damn asari" one screamed, voice filled with panic.

And then the Cadian joined the fight.

Sergeant Kane did not _take the right_ as she had ordered. What he did was charge straight down the center of the courtyard, hellgun raking fire across the closed gateway. Each shot punched a hole through the sturdy metal barrier, and screams erupted from the other side. A turian in white armor with a Blue Suns logo hastily spray-tatted onto his shoulder pad appeared on the rampart. His shotgun barked twice before the Commander's crossfire battered through the turian's shields and sent it ducking for cover. Both shots struck true, sparks rippling across the Cadian's shields like static, not slowing the large man down or knocking him off balance. He carried on as if he had not been hit.

She swore and charged off after him. The fool was going to get himself killed.

Muzzle flashes began to appear from the gun ports just moments after leaving the column, and Miranda had to slide into cover behind a heavy planter to avoid the peppering spray of the defenders. Unable to effectively target them behind the barrier, she hugged close to the ground and muttered darkly under her breath, chest nearly touching the ground from the angle. Peeking out from behind the planter, she fired a short burst at one of the gun ports, knowing the mathematical odds of piercing the small port and disabling a weapon were slim.

Then the Cadian reached the gate. Weakened by repeated shots from his hellgun along the borders, it crumpled inwards when he slammed into it with his armored shoulder. What happened next was lost from her position on the far side of the barrier. But she heard the screams, and the number of firing weapons drop so quickly they might as well have been throwing them down. Pushing up from her position of cover, she rushed to the gate and scuttled through, Tempest raised and searching for targets.

There were ten bodies on this side of the barricade. Not counting the one she had hurled down the street. Eight of them bore horrific wounds from the hellgun. The other two had been claimed by Shepard.

"Clear," the Cadian grunted, ejecting his power pack and inserting a new one. His armor bore several new scuff marks from rounds that had deflected off the dense armored plates, but otherwise he appeared to have suffered no injuries. Stalking past the dead, he took position at the nearest piece of cover and assumed overwatch of the street.

Bodies lay strewn about the barricade, twisted and tossed about as if a god had sprinkled them from the heavens. Overturned chairs and card tables occupied the side of the street to the right, next to an open habitation unit converted into a small barracks. One corpse lay just inside the door, spilled to the right and facing away, as if the person had tried to shut the door and his behind it. On the other side of the street, a portable grill still flared, a dozen small steaks rotating on spits.

Lowering her Tempest, she knelt down and inspected one of the corpses. The damage was, in a word, horrific. Watching the footage from the armory had not prepared her for just how gruesome a weapon the hellgun was. The rank stench of sizzling meat seeped into the air from a half-dozen corpses, fouling her breath and inducing familiar and unsettling nausea. Charred meat dribbled crystalline ruby liquid, the colors clashing against the blue and white armored hardsuits. One thin mercenary, potentially a teenager by the look of him, had lost his entire arm below the shoulders. The stump lay several feet away, still clutching a heavy pistol that had never been fired. She had seen dead bodies before, killed her share of sentients.

This sickened her.

The Commander entered, also having survived unscathed. He paused in the gateway, surveying the carnage, his expression carefully schooled to show nothing. Offering a nod and a noncommittal grunt, he pushed past the dead and approached the Cadian. That was fine. She had finished her inspection, and they had wasted enough time here. Each showed an eagerness to move on, though she suspected that the Cadian had now tasted combat, and was looking forward to more.

"Conscripts" the Cadian said. "I counted two trained bodies. The rest must have been recent additions."

"Sounds right" the Commander agreed. "One more, Miranda sent him off that way. Add the two from the patrol, and this is a full outpost. Twelve-man squad, half veterans, half recruits."

"Will there be more?"

"Not out here. The fighting is on that side of the district. These ones would have been here for control. I doubt they have more than a couple of these outposts on this side of the district."

They moved on, past the Blue Suns outpost, until the sound of gunfire reached them. They recognized the signature of a firefight instantly: sustained chatter of automatic weapons, small explosions. Advancing carefully, they closed in on the battle and took a vantage point surveying the scene.

The Blood Pact were making a push into Blue Suns territory.

A force of what had been twenty Blue Suns guns held the near side of a square, their numbers whittled down to less than eight left. The dozen corpses spread around cover points or caught between were far outweighed, however, by the carpet of dead vorcha littering the square itself. Fighting a force at least three times their number, the Blue Suns held the line grimly and with precision. These were the professionals. They did not panic, and they coordinated fire as best they could, keeping the horde-like vorcha of the Blood Pact at bay with a wall of bullets and grenades. Stuck on the far end of the square, she counted dozens more of the vorcha lurking in the shadows, guided by a pair of krogan, being released in waves to rush into the square and die so that heavier weapons could maneuver to eliminate the entrenched mercenaries. The vorcha charged willingly, their bloodlust overcoming any sense of self-preservation, and died just as quickly. But the numbers were telling. It was only a matter of time before the Blue Suns' defense cracked, and once it did, the battle would be over.

"Hold tight" the Commander ordered, surveying the scene through the scope of his Mattock. "Flamer teams, four, evenly placed across the square. Krogan, two, shotguns, back of the square. Wair to engage, but mark targets. Kane, watch those krogan. Miranda, flamers."

She holstered her Tempest to free both hands. It would take effort to throw a **warp** that far, but the results would be spectacular. Flamethrowers were an incredibly outdated tool of warfare. Especially with the advent of biotic powers, most noticeably the **warp** ability that most every combatant-grade biotic possessed, flamethrowers had become too much of a liability. If biotics were involved in a battle, no one brought flamethrowers. Except the vorcha. Cheap and disposable, just like the flamethrowers, vorcha did not care about the odds, nor did their masters. A trained biotic could reliably destroy one or two flame-equipped warriors before being overwhelmed. The Blood Pact always brought more than that. Their vorcha often went into battle with scavenged weapons, and sometimes no weapons at all, but the one tool that the Blood Pact made sure they had access to was flamethrowers. Give a dozen vorcha flamethrowers, and at least one would make it across the lines. And no race in the galaxy was immune to a gout of superheated flame. Just as no sane sentient maintained their composure when a flamethrower started burning down their allies.

Those had to go, she thought grimly, counting how many **warp** she could throw before they achieved range. The Blue Suns would help with that, providing they prioritized the flamer teams. Once the flamethrowers had been removed, and the krogan handlers, the rest would be mop-up work.

"When this next wave strikes, start shooting." The Commander took a hand away from his rifle and pointed directly at the Cadian. "No charging. Keep these bastards at range."

"They have flamers" the Cadia growled, as if that answer had been obvious enough. "No one advances towards a flamer."

The gunfire started to calm down just a hair as the last of the charging vorcha toppled over, barely having made it halfway across the square. There had been no hope of success, but that had not been the point. While the Blue Suns had frantically gunned down the chattering vorcha, two teams of vorcha armed with short-range anti-personnel missile launchers had scrambled into cover, and the resulting volley they unleashed obliterated a wall of crates and boxes the Blue Suns had erected for their defenses. Three of the blue-clad mercenaries were tossed wide by the explosions, even as several poorly-aimed missiles streaked past and exploded against habitation units. One came close enough to shower them with debris. She shook her head slightly to clear the dust from her hair.

With a gap achieved, the krogan handlers blew their whistles, and thirty more vorcha charged into the square with whoops and hollers. The Blue Suns recovered quickly, with four rising to launch a volley of grenades into the vorcha before pouring fire downrange, while the fifth rushed between the three fallen to check on them. The Commander opened fire as well, a sharp burst dropping two of the missile-vorcha as they rose to launch a second volley. Taking that as her cue, she sent power hurtling into her fists and launched a furious **warp** into the square, targeting the front-runner of the flamer teams. Tucked safely behind a half-dozen bodies, the carrier did not have time to dodge as the **warp** snapped down onto it, catching it in a biotic field that crumpled the tank on its back so quickly that sparks ignited the fuel inside. The vorchas' screams were lost in the roaring fireball.

The Cadian's hellgun snapped alongside her, launching fiery bolts across the square with a hissing of burning air. She did not see what happened to the krogan, but by the time the first fireball died out the hellgun had changed targets. The Cadian raked automatic fire across the vorcha, dropping the front rank with ease. The instant cauterization of the weapon neutralized their impressive regenerative abilities, with the result being each shot took a vorcha to the ground, rather than knocking them about.

She took down two more of the flamer teams before they reached the Blue Suns, setting off each in a spectacular explosion that flattened those around. The fourth dropped just moments after unleashing a spray across the Blue Suns' line, one of the Cadian's bolts punching through its torso and blasting the fuel tank into a hellish inferno. Only a few more vorcha remained at that point, but they pounced on the Blue Suns with the fury their race had made itself known for. Abandoning their firearms, they struck with razor-sharp claws and needle-like teeth, tearing the screaming Blue Suns to pieces. Drawing her Tempest, she decided to rest her eezo nodes and assisted in clearing out the remainder the old-fashioned way.

When the last body on either side ceased twitching, the Commander ordered them forward.

Trying to ignore the awful stench of seared flesh, she scanned the Blue Suns for identification. Two registered Citadel Security Services bounties. She flagged the corpses, used her omnitool to gather an appropriate DNA sample, and logged it for upload when they returned to the _Normandy_. It would register under a shell-identity, and the funds from the bounty would transfer across numerous companies under Cerberus' control before returning 'cleaned' to the _Normandy's_ operating budget.

Why not?

 **-v-**

They reached the xenos doctor's clinic without further contact. With a real battle under his belt now, Kane had started to solidify his opinion of the warriors of this time. The _vorcha_ , as Shepard had called them, were no better than the ragged cultists of the Archenemy. Actually, they were weaker, because he had yet to see a vorcha sporting horrific mutations that kept it alive after losing its head, or wielding a vicious crushing claw that ripped chunks off of armored vehicles. The _vorcha_ were cut and dry, cheap bodies with expendable weapons. He could handle that easily enough.

The krogan were tough targets. It had taken several shots to drop them, firing at low power, and they had the benefit of redundant internals to keep them moving after taking grievous damage. Perhaps when he had laid out that one back in the bar, it had merely been off-foot. Seeing a fully-engaged krogan in combat would be quite different, he mused. So they were still an unknown. For now, he had seen them shrug off lasbolts. That made them dangerous.

Despite it all, the dim lighting, the claustrophobic streets, and the xenos surrounding them, he felt comfortable. This was what he knew. They were on a mission, there were targets to kill, and he had competent allies at his side. Perhaps not as competent as he would have liked, neither Shepard nor Madam Lawson possessed a Cadian's approach to warfare, but they had capabilities and the knowledge of how to use them. Her _biotics_ were… strange, to say the least, but effective. She emulated the powers of the Warp without truly tapping into them. He would have to study this biotic concept, and see if any hidden truths could be found. While he doubted it was anything to worry about, he had to wonder just what hid at the bottom line.

The clinic was guarded by servitors, or 'battle mechs' as Shepard called them. LOKI models, hard-programmed mechanicals with limited programming capabilities. Whatever that meant. Kane did not like the way their single eye-slot followed them. Unshackled intelligent machines were a reality here. It would take much getting used to.

At a word from a human guard, an aged and balding man who had no business holding a weapon, the LOKIs averted their attentions and resumed watching the street. Shepard exchanged words with the guard, and they were let in with the expected warning to not cause trouble. That amused him. As if there was not enough trouble going around this district as it was.

Here, Kane found something both comfortingly familiar and startlingly not. The clinic had not been designed to ever handle more than a few patients, it appeared, and the resulting influx of plague victims had exploded into the typical Imperial quality of care that Kane had too much experience with. Rows of cots lined every wall, clumped so closely together one could hardly stand between them. Not that most of these victims were likely to ever stand again. Bleary-eyed humans attended to the sick, mostly xenos, but a few humans were present and suffering from more natural causes. The desk near the entrance must have originated as check-in to process patients, but now it doubled as a makeshift surgery table, and a too-young human couple were in the middle of struggling to sedate a writhing _turian_ that let out grating screams every few seconds.

The atmosphere of the clinic was charged with despair and hopelessness. The sick lay dying without a chance of reprieve. The healthy stared numbly at the walls, or shuffled from place to place carrying medicine that would not offer aid. A pair of _turians_ wearing environmentally sealed armor carried a body out the back door, covered by a bloody tarp. He stole a look outside as they passed, noting the pile of dead outside waiting for a proper disposal.

The healthy all watched them warily as they strode through. Fear and apprehension broke through their miasma, and they shrank back from contact with the newcomers. Not a bad decision, when a trio of armed soldiers pushed their way through a medical ward. Even in this cocked-up time, the people knew what that meant.

Commander Shepard maintained a stoic grimace as the moved, betraying nothing about his thoughts, but Kane could sense the man's bleeding-heart sentimentalism bleeding through his armor. Uncertain of what the man was pondering, but certain he would not like it, Kane braced himself for another round of unpleasant naive fumbling.

They approached a room guarded by a flickering neon sign that read _SURGERY_.

"...on hand. Almost as good. Causes cramping in batarians. Supplement with butemerol."

Like every specimen of its race Kane had seen in the past few hours, this _Mordin Solus_ was ugly. The salarian race reminded him of evolved bugs, and not the voracious terrifying Tyranid bugs, but actual, squishable, toad-like bugs. Their skin was smooth and unarmored. Their eyes were large and vulnerable. Most salarians had two skin-covered horns growing over their skulls; this one they had come to find had lost part of one in some past event. Their mouths were small and not suited to a predacious lifestyle. And their hands did not have any claws or nails to speak of. They were, in short, a race of prey. Kane did not understand what value this could possibly bring. Bad enough it was xenos, but couldn't it have been a krogan or even a turian. Those at least had potential.

The creature did not look up at their approach, too intent on the the glowing orange device attached to its arm. It wore a dirtied white smock, and carried a weapon on its hip. Kane noted that and adjusted his impression of the creature to possibly dangerous. Add in the trace of scars criss-crossing its face, and perhaps it was tougher than it looked.

"Mordin Solus," Shepard stated, giving the creature a look-over. It was impossible to tell what the Commander was thinking, but again, Kane assumed he knew what was coming next.

The xenos doctor glanced over at them from the edge of its tool, and blinked several times. As of annoyed by the intrusion, it held up a single finger in the universal sign of 'wait,' and ducked back into its tool.

"Too well-armed to be refugees. Not mercenary, and quarantine still in effect… Face matches profile of Commander John Shepard, Council Spectre, deceased over Alchra in 2185. Facial structure same, except for scarring. Reconstructive surgery in mimicry? Body double?" Its eyes flicked over to Madam Lawson. "Cerberus. Rumors of Commander Shepard's return and Cerberus affiliation. Not possible. Saw reports myself. Commander Shepard is-"

"He's the real Shepard," the Cerberus woman interrupted. "And yes, he died. We brought him back. Professor Solus, we are on a mission and we require your assistance."

The xenos regarded her as if she had just slapped a glass of amasec out of its hand. "Cerberus rumors true, then. Success of Project codename Lazarus. Resurrecting from brink of death and restoring to peak fitness. Interesting, must scan."

It took a step forward with its tool raised. Shepard put up a hand to stop the doctor.

"Mordin, I _am_ Commander Shepard. And we do need your help."

"Mission? Odd for Cerberus to request help from alien. Goes against company line. What mission? No! Too busy. Clinic understaffed. Can't afford to leave. Plague spreading too fast, out of control."

"What can we do to persuade you?" Shepard crossed his arms and offered a placating tone of voice. Kane groaned quietly, and focused on looking at anything in the room that was not xenos. He recognized the technology of many items as comparable to those in the _Normandy's_ medical bay. Not the same quality, but serviceable, he assumed.

"Crossed paths with Cerberus on occasion. Thought they only worked with humans. Question: Is Cerberus changing? What stakes would cause them to look to aliens for assistance? Why request salarian aid?"

"The Collectors," Shepard answered.

Kane took a long, measured breath, and strode out of the room. The others noticed, but none moved to stop him. He passed through the squalid entrance area and pushed straight through the back door, heedless of the surprised occupants scurrying out of his way. The door slammed shut behind him, sealing him away in the silence of the outside. He reached up and unclasped his helmet, tugging it free, and took a long, calming breath of the stale recycled air. The rotting stench of the dead pile bothered him less than the sickening scent of xenos inside the clinic. Left alone, he took a few meandering steps to place a wall at his back, and inspected the fate of the plague victims.

Their bodies were bloated and marred with pustulant sores. Bloody gashes trailed down their bodies from injection points turned infected. It was ugly, and it was effective. Doubly so because he could tell in an instant he had no worry of seeing these corpses get back up. A simple, ordinary plague. Killed slowly, killed horribly, but it _killed_. That humans were supposedly immune was just a bonus.

Minutes later, Miranda Lawson stepped out of the clinic and joined him. Her ivory skin had paled slightly, and her discomfort at her proximity to the dead seeped through her calm. It was not fear that whitened her face, but the lucid certainty that chance of infection increased near corpses. The plague would not be the only agent at work among that pile.

"You left in a hurry" she stated, sidling up beside him and leaning against the wall. Her hand drifted down to her thigh, fiddled with something, and a hidden zipper opened. Drawing a thin stick, she held it out to him. "Smoke?"

"No."

"Not a smoker?"

"Occasional." he shrugged. "Not certain I should be putting that inside me unless I know it will not give adverse effects. Your medicae told me that I should limit ingesting substances other than basic foods until she finishes studying our physiology."

"Suit yourself." She put the cigarette between her lips and flicked her finger under the tip. A flame sparked, and she took a long drag, exhaling it out in a smooth smokeless cloud. "This brand has eezo particles in the tip," she explained. "No, I did not just start a fire by snapping my fingers."

"Wasn't going to make that accusation" he grunted, eyeing the cigarette, curiosity gnawing. She held it delicately between two fingers, lips pursed in a sultry frown as she stared at the dead.

"That's a miserable way to die."

"I thought Cerberus wanted the xenos out of humanity's way."

"Not like this." She shook her head and took another drag. "Cerberus wants humanity to be its own power, not a lesser member, or even an equal member, among alien races. But we don't use biological warfare. Not all of our methods are clean, I admit. We have assassinated, we have pushed ethical boundaries in research. But we would never stoop to something like this."

"I would." Kane noted the hint of surprise cross her features. "If the Magos created a plague that killed Eldar by slowly forcing their organs out through their skin pores, we would take it and use it in a heartbeat."

"That is terrible."

"It isn't any worse than what they do to us."

Neither said anything for a while. The Cerberus agent contented herself with her smoke, and Kane kept silent vigil over the dead. When her cigarette had drained to the filter, she flicked away the last bit of ash and tossed the butt next to the dead. "He's in there negotiating. Is that why you stepped out?"

"I thought it best if I removed myself from the situation."

"Best for you, or for them?"

"Would it surprise you if I told you I preferred sharing air with corpses than with a xenos?"

"I doubt anything you say would surprise me anymore." She let out a long, relaxing breath, and slid down to a squatting position, resting on her toes, knees tucked close to her body. A moment later she rose back to her full height, stretching her calves and shaking the tightness out of her legs. Kane looked sharply away when he caught himself staring.

"What started your war with the … Eldar?"

"No idea. I would assume it had to do with humanity's expansion into the galaxy. Every race we discovered fought us, tried to destroy us and our worlds. The Eldar were no different. A sad, pathetic race of mystics that hid on their Craftworlds and struck from the shadows."

"Surely not every race fought you."

"Every race of importance. There might have been a few that did not, but they aren't around anymore. There isn't space in the galaxy for peaceful neighbors, Madam Lawson. There is only humanity, and those in our way."

"The first race we met attacked us" she told him. 'The turians. We attempted to open a Relay near their space. Of course, we did not know it at the time, but the Citadel Council has a very strict law against opening Relays until they are mapped out and carefully explored. The turians that responded to our attempt attacked us, destroyed a small exploratory fleet, and chased the survivors back to our world Shanxi. They sieged it, killed most of the colonists, and it took the direct intervention of the Citadel fleets to force a ceasefire."

"So the Citadel races attacked you, then demanded peace?"

"The Citadel Council is not a direct ruling body. The Turian Hierarchy does as it pleases, and works in coordination with the Council in matters of interspecies law. The turians that attacked Shanxi served the Hierarchy, not the Council."

"But the turians have a representative on the Council, correct?"

"They do." She did not show her surprise that he had figured that one out, but he could tell it was there.

"Convenient for the turians. They punch humanity in the nose, bleed it a bit, then when things start swinging against them, they go suing for peace while hiding behind a larger body."

"The turian fleet had stepped outside its legitimate authority. Fleets operate in broad swaths of space, here. They have standard remit and purpose, but the particulars of fleet action are decided by the commanders, and transmitted to the Hierarchy for approval. The commanders that led the fleet against Shanxi refused to record their engagement, attempting to operate a shadow war without the knowledge of their government or populace. After Shanxi they were prosecuted and put on trial for war crimes."

"What is a war crime?" He laughed bitterly. Her lack of response only confirmed his impression of the term. "Do you people put rules on your warfare?"

"Civilization is founded on principles and codes of honor," she insisted. "Yes, we had limits and regulations on what sort of warfare is permissible and what is not. This," she gestured to the dead, "is exactly the sort of thing that is prohibited in Citadel space. Weapons of terror, targeting civilian populations, the kinds of things that degrade a conflict from war to anarchy and murder."

"Wars are won much faster when you bomb the populate into dust. You don't have to worry about rebellions when everyone is dead."

"And you don't have to rebuild a planet from ashes if you leave the population centers intact."

"Hmm… how long has humanity been space-worthy?"

"Less than a few hundred years."

Kane studied her face for a long moment. She was incredibly beautiful, he reminded himself. Even if she was arrogant, naive, and a spy. "You won't understand warfare until you think centuries in advance. We, the Imperium, have thousands of years of history under our belt. Planets can be repopulated. Mountains can be rebuilt. Destruction that takes five hundred years to recover from is not a great task."

"The more I hear about your Imperium, the less I like it."

"No one does. It's rotten, it's bloated. It's a Throne-damned mess of corruption and bureaucracy. But it is ours. And it has held humanity together for ten thousand years. That is worth something."

The doors to the clinic opened, and Commander Shepard stepped out. He gave them both a tired smile, and patted a bulky cylindrical container hanging from a clip on his belt. "New plan. Going to the environmental systems. Once there we can disperse the cure, and Mordin will come with us back to the _Normandy_."

Kane grunted and donned his helmet. Miranda Lawson pushed off the wall and motioned for Shepard to lead the way. Barely a dozen steps later, a massive shuddering rippled through the massive chamber, accompanied by a grinding noise that echoed ghost-like from one end of the district to the other. Like a giant series of machines abruptly shrieking to a halt.

"That would be the environmental systems shutting down" Shepard noted dryly, unfazed. His conversation with the xenos must have brought up this possibility.

"Bloody hell," Miranda grumbled.

"Guess we'll have targets there, then." Kane unslung his hellgun, his pulse quickening ever so slightly at the prospect of battle.

"We need to move fast. The controls are deep in Blood Pact territory."

Shepard did not use caution this time. They hurried along the streets, moving to the controls, which of course were a good distance from the clinic. The Blood Pact seemed less concerned with scouting their own territory, and no outposts arose to oppose them.

"Think Blood Pact is behind the plague, then?"

"Doubtful" Shepard replied. "The Blood Pact is almost entirely krogan and vorcha. Neither race is known for their scientists, and the Blood Pact always preferred a good fight. But their races are notoriously hardy and resistant to disease, so having them provide muscle for whoever is behind this plague makes sense. Someone hired them for this job."

"So this isn't a turf war."

"Maybe," Shepard agreed. "Or the turf war is a convenient side-job."

Their movement to the environmental controls went unopposed nearly all the way. Shepard had a map, courtesy of the xenos doctor, to guide them, filled with surprisingly accurate notations of Blood Pact patrols and barricades. The only detour they took came seemingly at random, as a small blip appeared on the map that drew Shepard's attention immediately. The blip led them to an utterly ordinary habitation unit. Unremarkable, save for the noises coming from inside.

"Professor Solus said his assistant disappeared out here. His biochip is in here."

"Biochip?"

"The doctor has his assistants were biochips for monitoring."

"Is that normal?"

"Is anything a salarian does normal?"

Kane had no answer to that. Stacking up against the doorway, he put an ear to the door and listened. Gruff, angry voices mumbled inside The Commander glanced over at him, eyes dropping to the wrist-auspex. It counted five signals inside.

"Stay ready, but don't fire unless you have to. Sergeant?"

"Understood. Only if a suitable threat arises."

Shepard palmed the rune to open the door, and they rushed in with weapons raised. A confused mass of bodies greeted them: four batarian bastards spread in a near line, all armed and facing away from them, towards a shaking young human with a similar coat to the one worn by the xenos doctor. A lab coat, then. That was what at least some medical professionals wore. Of more immediate concern were the rifles and shotguns that spun frantically to greet them, flinching as the Commander's voice filled the small habitation unit.

"Weapons down" the Commander shouted, weapon trained on the most well-armed xenos.

While his three compatriots remained half-stunned by the sudden arrival, their weapons lifted but not quite aimed, the leader sprang into action. Ducking behind the human medicae, the leader threw an arm around the man and pressed a sidearm to the side of his skull.

"Don't move or we kill your friend!"

"Do it and you won't walk out of here alive."

"But he'll be dead."

"So will you." The Commander took one hand off his rifle and pointed to each of the xenos in turn. "Look, you're scared. The plague is killing so many. The vorcha are crawling over this place like termites. But this man isn't to blame. He has nothing to do with spreading the virus. Why would he? The plague already came through here. There's nothing for him to do."

"That… actually sort of makes sense," one of the xenos grumbled, casting a nervous look at the others.

"This man works for the clinic back a ways. He's an assistant to Mordin Solus, a salarian. They are trying to cure the plague."

"Those vials don't look like a cure." The leader took the pistol off of the man's head just long enough to point accusingly at some small medical vials lying on the counter, along with the ransacked contents of the medicae's satchel. Kane braced for shooting, fully expecting Shepard to take the shot, but the moment passed, and the pistol returned to the man's skull.

"They don't look like plague either. You are running scared. I get it, I really do. Shit's gone sideways here real fast, and you are caught up in the middle of it. But do you really want to risk dying here, over something that may or may not even be true? Even if it is, what's the benefit for you? Say you kill him, and kill us, what does that accomplish? Because you won't. Not all of you, not even some of you. You don't need to die, and I don't need to kill you. Lower your weapons, and you walk out of here. We aren't your enemy. Don't be ours."

One by one, the xenos lowered their weapons. All except the leader, who cast withering glares at his comrades. They each stepped away, back, and slowly holstered their weapons. When it became clear he was on his own, the speaker conceded.

"I'll release him outside" the batarian snarled.

"You'll release him here. We need to talk to him."

"And we walk?"

"You have my word." Shepard's aim did not waver. "You let him go, and I won't shoot you."

Kane found it hard to believe that it worked. The batarian lowered the pistol but kept it close to his hip. Pushing the medicae roughly out of the way, the batarian kept his glare fixed on Shepard.

"So we're walking then."

"Yes." Shepard motioned for them to lower their weapons. Kane did so grudgingly, attention switching back and forth for any sign of trouble. The three lesser xenos were appeased, cowed. The leader did not show any sign of taking this in stride. Murder simmered in his eyes, plain for them all to see. It was angry, and it had Shepard in its crosshairs. "We had a deal."

"Human nobility." The batarian sniffed. "Didn't know such a thing existed."

It did not put its weapon away.

 **-v-**

Shepard breathed a sharp sigh of relief as the batarians moved to shuffle past them, their hands wide and free of their weapons. The first three had the fight sucked right out of them; they were not soldiers; just scared civilians trying to make right of the world. Not the fourth though. He was a slaver. The insignia on his clothes denoted he was Mountain Clan. Odd to see one of their caste here in the bowels of Omega. He must have been caught in the plague while conducting business. Regardless, he was trouble. Would be trouble for the people here.

But that was not his worry at the moment. Trusting in the others to watch his back, he approached the trembling Daniel and offered a hand to steady the man.

"Mordin Solus sent us out looking for you."

"Thank you!" The man shook Shepard's hands, swallowing nervously as his eyes darted past to the batarians. "I thought they were going t-"

Kane's hellgun screamed into life behind him.

By the time Shepard spun around, the last of the batarians' bodies was hitting the floor. To his left, Miranda stood with her Tempest raised but unfired, her eyes wide and alert, mouth half-opened in an unformed shout. The batarians lay strewn across the exit of the habitation unit, steaming vapors rising from their riddled corpses. For a terrifying heartbeat, the room was silent, and he heard nothing but the pounding of blood in his temple, and the harsh breaths of those assembled. That, and the sibilant hiss of discharging heat as the hellgun's coolant systems vented the barrels.

"Clear," the Cadian grunted.

And then it crashed like a dam shattering under the weight of the flood. Shepard threw up his rifle and sighted on Sergeant Kane.

"Drop your weapon, Sergeant!"

The Cadian's helmet inclined his way, voice modulated with that infernal monotone. "I don't think so, Commander."

"Miranda, take his weapon, right now." Shepard took a threatening step forward, toggling the incendiary mod. His executive officer took a hesitant step forward, her own weapon aimed at the ground, but one hand reaching out for the hellgun. Hardwired instinct kicked her feet forward as she moved to intercept the larger Cadian.

"You touch this, and I will kill you." The Cadian did not look over at Miranda, but the intent was clear. She stopped, fingers tightening around her Tempest. Her free hand began to shimmer with biotic force as a scowl overtook her, jaw setting in determination.

"What the hell was that Kane? I said they could walk."

"And they did." Kane did not deign to lift his weapon at either of them. The confidence oozing from his posture infuriated Shepard. He wanted nothing more than to punch the man in his face and send him reeling.

"They had surrendered, damn it!"

"They still had weapons."

"You…" Shepard stomped up to the man and grabbed the hellgun. The Cadian twitched, his whole body tensing, muscles coiling for action. But he did not move. He remained stationary, waiting. Like a trap when the mouse was sniffing the cheese. Except it wasn't a mouse that was about to trigger. "I gave them my word, Sergeant! And I gave you an order! You do what I say, when I say it. You told me that would not be a problem."

The Cadian did not say anything. Shepard held onto the hellgun for a moment longer, considering his options. He wanted to take it away, but that would help nothing. They were deep in enemy territory, and he needed Kane's marksmanship. More than that, he had no way to detain the man. Fighting the Blood Pact while watching a very dangerous prisoner would go nowhere. And they did not have the time to proceed carefully. They needed speed, and Kane was efficient at killing, if anything. Shepard suppressed an angry scream and released the Cadian's hellgun.

"This," Shepard gestured at the man, "is done. When we get back to the _Normandy_ , you will be relieved of your weapons and escorted to the brig. From there, you'll be handed off to an Alliance research team. Is that clear?"

"Better to be a prisoner of humans than working with xenos." The Cadian nodded curtly, though Shepard could read the man's own anger boiling under his armor. The larger man dripped disdain and contempt. It was like arguing with a concrete wall. There simply wasn't a way to reason with a man whose entire mindset had been poured in an unbreakable mold. And that mold was just as dangerous and problematic as everyone had warned him it would be. Even Sergeant Kane had said it.

He gestured for Daniel to come closer. "You. Mordin wants you back at the clinic. Go."

"But I…"

"Just. Go."

Daniel scurried off, tiptoeing around the dead, eyes wide as saucers as he looked from Kane to the batarians and back. A greenish hue had come over the man's face, and they heard retching noises just as he disappeared down the street.

Shepard let out a long, frustrated breath. His gaze flicked over to Kane, standing silently over the batarians in vigil. Miranda had stepped out, ostensibly to keep watch in case others were drawn by the shooting. More likely, she was distancing herself from the godawful stench of seared flesh. His stomach twisted at the thought of a battlefield filled with these weapons. The screams and blood were bad enough. He could not imagine what sort of guts it took to slog through all of that, plus the stench. He could not imagine what sort of monsters could mow down his foes in cold blood.

Not anymore, he reminded himself. Not anymore.

"We're moving," Shepard ordered, pushing past Kane and back out onto the street. His skin crawled with the Cadian outside of his vision, behind him. And just for a flash of a breath, he imagined the Cadian lifting his hellgun and squeezing the trigger.


	6. Archangel

**A/N: Took me longer than I wanted to get this chapter edited and readable. Autumn has been nuts, with multiple RPG campaigns, tournaments, etc... Was hoping I could get this done in time to finish TWiF by New Years 2018, but this took so long I doubt it will happen. Either way, cheers to this one!**

 **Quick note for the 'DEW' fans. Warhammer science is founded on Warp Bullshit. Stop trying to apply real science to a fictional universe.  
**

 **Reviewers-  
** deadtrooper- Thanks! Hope it continues to excite.  
Abaddon953- He had reasons. All things considered, he's showing remarkable control. But don't worry, it wasn't senseless.  
dekuton- Well, Warhammer science is 100% Grade A Warpdookey, so... On the batarian note, see above.  
BrotherCaptainShepard- Exactly. See, that's what people tend to forget in crossovers. People don't change. Grimdark plus Mass Effect equals Grimdark plus Mass Effect, not Mass Effect with lasers. Besides, who honestly didn't want the option to both save the dude and take out some batarian scum?  
Guest- Will do!  
Guest 2- Really? There are real life examples of human beings getting shot by powerful enough lasers to kill them? I would LOVE to see those reports. On a serious note, burns do not cancel out exploding chunks of flesh. Burning still occurs, regardless. It's just on the leftover bits.  
NIX1987- I tend to prefer the ME stories where there is still obvious tension between races. I mean, the turians and humans still have people alive that were trying to murder the ever loving shit out of each other during the First Contact War. The whole "let's be friends in a perfect universe" is incredibly naive.  
Artyom-Dreizehn- Las weaponry is founded on Warhammer technology, which is founded on Warp bullshit not-even-pseudoscience. Also, if las weapons actually caused exploding body parts (which they don't in nearly every/any Black Library book), then lasguns would be one of the most retardedly powerful weapons in existence from the sheer debilitating aspect of it. If Warhammer was ground in real science, I would apply their weapons as real science. But they aren't. They are founded on rule of cool and abstract conceptualization of advanced weaponry.  
Vostok2142- Heehee. Reapers are Palaven? EXTERMINATUS  
Carre- All the fancy weapons to choose from, and I went with the humble lasgun. because CADIA STANDS DARN IT  
ManwithaPlan113- I know, right? These are the same guys that watch a Chaos megafleet sitting in Cadia's orbit and mutter "Gonna be a long week" (Cadian Blood, awesome book)  
Ghost- The Imperium is a bunch of a-holes, run by a-holes, protected by a-holes. Why do people expect Warhammer people in crossovers to be Lawful Good? I mean, Lawful EVIL at best...  
shadow- Glad you liked it!  
Hiei-Uchiha - That will happen eventually, though probably not to the death. Hopefully (crosses fingers)  
Mr Exterminatus- Aftermath? lol  
Guest 3- Woo!  
FractiousDay- At that point, it is no longer the author's job to cater to a particular reader's whims. fanfic isn't written for the readers, it's written for the author. If this story has nothing for you, then that's not my job to change it. I enjoy my story, and anyone else that enjoys it is a bonus.  
kukuhimanpr- I mean, you can't write a Mass Effect story without paying homage to Miranda.  
edboy4926- Thanks!  
Gustauve-Drakenhime - Well, you can't have 360 vision, and when two well-trained shooters are watching your back, it's generally safe to assume you ain't getting ganked in the back.  
grey- Brunson is certainly a lesser grunt, but he's still Cadian. And yes, slavers. Pretty sure Imperials would have something to say about xenos enslaving humans.  
Volantis- You're assuming that the batarians posed no immediate threat. Xenos, with weapons, that were threatening to kill humans... That's three solid reasons alone for a Guardsmen to kill them.  
Disciple of Ember- Went to write Tali and accidentally said Tau-bae best. Had to go drink a gallon of bleach to get that filthy heresy out of my mouth. Bleh. Crisis suits... I never liked the 'good boy' Shepard. Always mained Paragon, but what Special Forces soldier is all sunshine and rainbows? I mean, he faced a Reaper. That kind of thing requires a near-psychopathic attitude, if not some hardcore mental barriers, that must have come from somewhere.  
Jouaint- The Imperium of Man is not so easily turned from the Truth of the God-Emperor. Heresy will not be tolerated.  
Nox- Spite is certainly a thing. I mean, he clearly would despise the weaknesses that any true-born Imperial would see in them. But I write from limited narrative, so you have to remember that you only saw what happened _after_ the bodies hit the floor.  
RoyalTwinFangs- Thanks!  
boret98- Angst is a key component of Grimdark. Also, you have to think through the other conversations they had. Kane is probably fairly confident that he can handle himself.  
magnusvictor- Lol. I had completely missed that until you posted that. I lack the energy to go back and change it, so let your imagination run wild.  
SomeGuyOverHere- I don't really have Shepard placed, other than no biotics. Soldier would be the most likely fit. He's got some tech aptitude, but not enough to place him in anything fancy. As for the conflict, someone definitely will have to bend.  
Tom2011- Kane is certainly focused and driven. He has a singular purpose and he knows what that is.  
Redentor- As much as I love some other crossovers, the Warhammer people tend to be way too cheerful and nice for true Warhammer.  
tmroc725- Brunson and Kelly would be adorable. Anything with Kelly would be adorable. Kelly is adorable. Miranda and Kane are much more believable though.  
OBSERVER01- Shepard is definitely a gooder person than Kane, but from a ME perspective I wouldn't say he's naive. He just has a moral code. Guardsmen don't have that luxury.  
A Random Friend- Granted.  
SlaggedFire- See, I think and I have incredibly different definitions of research. A bunch of armed warriors literally appear out of a scientific anomaly, and your medical professional has confirmed that their bodies are infested with all sorts of viruses and things that pose a threat, and you WOULDN'T want that shit locked up and inspected? He'd be retarded (usage intentional) to NOT want to get them the hell off his ship and in quarantine. That is something that people also fail to understand with crossovers. DIFFERENT UNIVERSE MEANS DIFFERENT EVERYTHING. Different food, different evolution, different viruses, different ideologies. Also, you seem to be confusing real medical science with Grimdark Warhammer Inquisition Shit. Have you ever read/watched/heard any story, game, movie, etcetera where the government's first reaction to aliens is NOT to throw them in a lab and study them? That's not being evil. That is literally the most intelligent thing to do.  
Patsmckraken- Because in Warhammer you NEVER shoot people in the back... Yep, warfare is all about honor and nobility and playing by the rules... On the hellgun issue, it took me 30 seconds on Google to find 2 sources that confirm hotshot lasguns don't always require backpack sources (Lexicanum and FFG rules, both using officially sanctioned GW primary sources). And yes, I said hotshot, because GW is garbage with their IP and canon, and they literally copy-pasted hotshot over hellgun a couple editions back, and the two are used interchangeably. While you could argue that Kasrkin specifically have the Lucius-pattern hellgun that does require a backpack, you can also argue that a backpack-mounted weapon is impractical, inefficient, and unnecessarily exhausting on the user. And ambiguous wording allows for the possibility of power packs. This I am taking liberties on (sort of), within the preexisting confines of GW lore, for ease of writing. And because the backpack thing it stupid. It's really stupid.  
PLZDELETEME- yup.  
microzombie- I mean, there's got to be a disposable Guardsmen in every Warhammer story, right?  
MRMYSELF- You called?

* * *

Kane stomped forwards ahead of the rest, his weapon clutched tightly in his hands, anger radiating from his every step. The crowd parted frantically around him like schools of fish evading prowling sharks. Gang members faded from the streets, recognizing the potential threat and moving to avoid becoming the target of the hulking armored figure's wrath. The rare innocents of Omega gaped in amazement. It was a fine spectacle, to the unwary bystander. A terrible shadow that sent krogan stepping backwards and checking their weapons. That scattered the vorcha crowds into the alleys. That radiated murderous hatred without having to show any expression.

Shepard followed with Miranda in tow, fighting the urge to hurry his pace to match the Kasrkin's. They had not exchanged more than five words since fixing the air recyclers. He did not know what the man was thinking; other than seething with the presence of the aliens around him. Once they had returned and confirmed Professor Solus' arrival, Sergeant Kane had become entirely silent. It was a rare being that could express emotion while encased from crown to toe in armor, but the Cadian was doing a masterful job of it. It occurred to Shepard that the man might have been pushing off the imminent arrival of the salarian, keeping his calm because it had not happened yet. If this was a taste of what was to come, then there was little doubt that the man could be trusted in the long term. God only knew how he would respond when they went to find Okeer.

Beside him, Miranda maintained a steely, if sour, grimace that could have meant anything from her tea was too cold or the Earth had been destroyed. The Cerberus operative had held her counsel, perhaps choosing to see how Shepard played this out. Despite her chafing and honest admission that she was reserving judgment on his decisions, he could tell her mind was processing a hundred different options, and comparing them to what he had said, and what he would do. She was like a machine. The fact that no 'I told you so' had emerged, in one way or another, meant nothing. As a professional, those sorts of things did not need to be spoken. It was obvious enough to them both. Shepard had given the man a chance, and he had not passed.

Death was a close acquaintance. His time in the Alliance marines had seen plenty of combat. He had seen many forms of death. And he had seen many, many dead batarians. It was not their deaths that made him angry. It was the way it had been done. Shot in the back. That was a coward's way. There was a difference between an ambush and an execution. Assassination and murder. Shepard had committed the first before. He could claim with clean conscience he had never done the second. Kill, yes. Torture… yes. But he did not shoot people without reason. There had been no reason for what Sergeant Kane had done.

 _I am not like you, Shepard. Stop trying to pretend otherwise._

His own anger was cooling, easing like congestion draining down his throat. Each step seemed to snatch away a sliver of the overwhelming rage he had been struck by in the face of the man's action. It would not go away, he had every reason to be angry with the man, but the more he considered the incident, the more he asked himself what had triggered such a violent reaction. He wasn't like that. He did not explode. Perhaps he was not fully back. Perhaps the shock of being brought back to life was affecting him, and he just didn't realize it. That concerned him more than anything. If he could not trust himself, then how could the others? This mission was too important for him to have doubts.

His earpiece chirped, announcing an incoming call from Jacob Taylor. Glad for the distraction from his troubled thoughts, Shepard picked it up and glanced over to confirm that Miranda also had responded. A private communication could not have meant anything but trouble.

" _Shepard, we have a problem._ "

 _Goddamn it._

"Go for Shepard."

" _We've got someone knocking on the_ Normandy's _hatch. Says his name is Zaeed Massani. Claims Cerberus offered him a contract to assist us, but I've heard nothing._ "

Miranda's expression hinted downwards, deepening her scowl. "I received several messages as we were departing the _Normandy_. Unfortunately I was unable to read them before we stepped off. Tell EDI to run a name recognition search through my messages, code _Zeta-Bravo-Three-Kilo-Seven-Nine-Zeta-Alpha-Eight_."

Their companion had slowed his pace, loping forward with his towering gait, but remaining in easy earshot. His head turned back, studying them both through his opaque visor, before deciding that he was not needed and resumed walking, albeit at a calmer pace. Remaining close enough to respond if needed, and to maintain coherency. Whether he did that for support or to make sure he was not left behind on some sudden turn, Shepard did not know.

"You're just giving away your password" Shepard whispered, muting his side of the exchange.

"The code is based off a security algorithm I created" she explained, eyes fixed on the Cadian's back. "The instant it is used, it is discarded and another will be created. EDI is aware of what would happen should she try and use the password a second time."

"Oh."

"EDI _found a message. Our boss posted the contract when we arrived in system. It is legitimate_."

"Wonderful" Miranda breathed. "And now we have a mercenary joining us."

"He didn't contact you about this?"

"If he did, then he did not consider it important enough for a direct call" she replied, irritation seeping into her voice. Directing her attention to the channel, she ordered Jacob to have EDI verify the man's identity. "We will be there in a few minutes. He can have a job interview on-site, but I do not want him stepping on our ship without my or Shepard's approval."

" _Understood, Miranda._ "

"Problem?" Kane had stopped, and waited patiently for them to catch up. There was no telling what he was thinking behind his visor.

"Potentially." It was not worth explaining the details. He did not have the time or the patience. Nor did Shepard expect the man to have anything valuable to add to the discussion. Understanding the implication, the Kasrkin remained silent and fell into step beside him. Without the Kasrkin leading the way, they had to force their way forwards through the press of bodies. Enduring it stoically, Shepard processed the next step. They would have to go see Aria again. If anyone could point them in Archangel's direction, it would be her. Or one of her lackeys.

But first they had to deal with this new agent. Whoever this was. Whatever he was. Zaaed Massani. The name sounded human. If the Illusive Man had chosen a mercenary for this team, there must have been reason. The lack of trust Shepard harbored for Cerberus' string-puller did not encourage his instinctive reaction to this unwanted appearance. Mercenaries were inherently unreliable.

When they rounded the corner that led to their ship's umbilical dock, this mercenary stood waiting for them. Leaning casually against the asteroid wall, slouching as if the galaxy moved at his leisure. Only the assault rifle clipped to his side and the nasty scar splitting his face gave any indication of someone worth looking twice at. Shepard bit back his initial disdain and steadied himself for this unwanted conversation.

"You Shepard?" The mercenary pushed off the wall and greeted them with a professional once-over. He seemed to be the only one they had met who took in Kane's otherworldly appearance without needing a second take.

"Zaeed Massani?"

"Cerberus is willing to pay me a pretty penny to assist you on this…" he conveyed the impression of air quotes without moving his hands, " _secret assignment_ of yours. I wouldn't fancy you'd be willing to tell me what it is before I sign on?"

"No." Shepard gave the man a second, more serious inspection. His armor had been heavily personalized; there were clear patches and hand-tooling throughout that spoke of the long history it bore. The man had grey hair, too. Even in this age, grey hair was a rare sight in combat operatives. This man had the scars to prove he had experience. And his rifle was an old model. An M8 Avenger, adorned with battle scars and well-polished scuff marks.

"Suit yourself. The money's good. And it isn't every day a shadow intelligence organization knocks on your door. I'm curious, Shepard. There aren't many things left that make me curious. That'd and you're supposed to be dead."

"We still have to finish reviewing your file" Shepard told the man. "As you know, this contract was extended relatively...last minute, and we have been occupied."

"What baggage are you bringing" Miranda cut in, after waiting for an appropriate pause.

"Just me and Jesse, plus the usual. Couple changes of clothes, ammunition, explosives."

"It will be inventoried on boarding. Any explosives may be confiscated and stored in the ship's armory, as well as any devices or weapons that are deemed unsafe for the crew or ship. Do you have any questions?"

"When do we get started?" The mercenary flashed a grim smile.

"Soon. We have one last errand here before we set off." Shepard gestured for Kane and Miranda to go on to the airlock. They did, the Cadian giving one last look behind them as he stomped off. "You been on Omega long?"

"Long enough to know my way around."

"Then you know who Archangel is?"

The mercenary huffed, amused by the question. "Look, Shepard, if you are here to kill Archangel, you'll have to jump in line. He's pissed off every company on this rock, and they've got him pinned in the Core District. You'd have a harder time getting to him than finishing him off."

"He what?"

Miranda jerked back to look, drawn by Shepard's outburst. Her lips pursed in a frown, gaze shifting far away as an Omega news bulletin chirped in their ears, courtesy of EDI.

 _FREELANCE WORK AVAILABLE. HIRED GUNS TO OUST THE ARCHANGEL. SEE THE BLUE SUNS RECRUITERS AT AFTERLIFE BAR_.

Shepard silenced the mercenary with an upraised hand and cycled his radio to the _Normandy's_ primary channel.

"Jacob, weapon up. We're moving, pronto."

" _Understood, Shepard. Am I grabbing Brunson?"_

He hesitated, staring at the motionless Kasrkin poised halfway through the airlock. The armored Cadian seemed to understand the gist of what they were discussing, even though he was not linked in to their radio chatter. His rifle lifted subtly, as it to hand over the rifle. The gesture was not lost on Shepard. Even with everything they had just said, and done, the man was offering himself for their mission. Ordinarily, he would advocate not looking a gift horse in the mouth. But here, he already knew what would be accompanying that rifle.

If Archangel was in trouble, they would need guns. Kane had aptly demonstrated he was a spectacular shooter. And it would be a target rich environment. The files on Archangel noted a distinct lack of civilian casualties. Archangel operated in low-risk environments. Pending low civilian risk, his loose trigger finger would not complicate the mission.

Unless Archangel was an alien. Which, odds, were, he was. Male, because the operations were clinical and precise, detached and methodical like a machine's computations. Lacking in biotics, so not asari-led. Any asari leader would have at least a few sisters with her. Salarian teams operated with more stealth, less shooting. Turian, then. Integrating multiple fire points and mobile teams the same way the Turians military did. It went without saying that a turian lead would have experience in the Hierarchy. Not all turians did. Outlying colonies and non-birthed turians were not required to serve. But this one had.

Made him wish Garrus was here. Garrus would know how Archangel worked, how he processed.

" _Shepard?_ "

"Yes. Tell him to combat load, or whatever their equivalent is." He nodded towards Kane. "You need a reload?"

"Combat?"

"Yes."

The Kasrkin patted his ammunition pouches. "Kit is good. Close quarters expected?"

"Yes."

"Tell the corporal to bring the sword."

The mercenary had remained quiet, but his puzzlement showed clearly on his face. As did the predatory suspicion that zeroed in on the Cadian's unfamiliar tongue. But he held his silence, which Shepard attributed to intelligence.

" _We'll be stepping out in four. Do you want anyone else?_ "

"Any more and we'll be too large to operate. Zaeed, are you ready for an on-the-spot interview?"

"That's my favorite kind" was the reply, as the mercenary casually lifted his M8 Avenger and turned it to show the green-lit charge. "I'm always ready."

"Miranda, status check?"

"I need two heat sinks. Biotics are fine." She sniffed dismissively. "Could do for a nutrition bar. Jacob, strawberry, if you are able."

With his team preparing, Commander Shepard sighed quietly and rubbed his temples, easing the headache that was threatening to return.

-v-

He had hoped they would not step into that Throne-forsaken hellhole again. The Commander's threat back in the slums had rung hollow. In his brief time with this young humanity, he had decided they did not have the conviction to make drastic decisions. Their system of government lacked the totalitarian authority to push necessary measures. Military jurisdiction remained locked under the sway of politics. Commander Shepard's definition of research probably meant less than anything he should worry about. This galaxy had a code of laws for the allowable use of weapons, scientific actions, and all sorts of things. They wanted a galaxy that lived and operated in peace and civility. They were so painfully unaware of the truths of what was out there.

That being said, he still wondered what it might be like. These people did not have the Adeptus Mechanicus. How in heaven's could they pursue any true forms of science or technology?

In the meantime, here they were. The ship had been incredibly close, just a dozen feet away. And here they were, rearmed and marching back into the teeth of this xenos-rock with combat behind them, and combat ahead. This new one, Zaeed Massani, was a complete unknown. Yet the Commander had chosen to allow him along, bringing him directly into a combat situation without any form of vetting or testing. That was foolish. Had he been a member of their military, or a sanction operative, it would have made sense. Not with a mercenary. The man owed no allegiance to their mission.

 _Their mission_.

It wasn't his mission. Kane owed nothing to these people either. Their mission was foreign to him. Their enemy was foreign. So were they.

The atmosphere in the establishment had shifted in the short time that had passed. One of the side rooms, ostensibly a VIP entertainment room, had been overtaken by armed and armored mercenaries sports the colors of the Blue Suns. His lip curled towards a sneer at the sight of their polished armor and gleaming weapons. No signs of actual wear or tear on their armor. Untested, and not ready for combat, judging by the slack posturing and the wandering gazes that drifted across the dancing blueskins on the platforms. Despicable.

"Looks like you just got an invitation" the mercenary muttered to Kane, a wicked grin spreading across his scarred face. "Those dancers are drinking you up like Serrice Ice Brandy."

More than a few sets of xenos eyes were lingering, a fact that Kane was all too aware of and none too pleased with. Another reason why he loathed this accursed place. The xenos were shameless, without propriety or dignity. They acted as if they belonged, as if they were mankind's equals. Their brazenness enraged him. If one of them stepped down from their platforms and approached him, he would be sorely tested to not drop it on its ass.

A line had formed leading into the room, a thin stream of shuffling bodies disappearing through the first door to reappear strutting out the other. A temporary sign stood against the door, announcing this was the place to sign on for contracting work.

The Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse. Three supposedly powerful agents on this asteroid. And they were hiring anyone and everyone to hunt down a single man. The Commander's report claimed that this _Archangel_ had a team. But it could only be so large. This recruiting drive seemed more than excessive. It struck him as weak and impotent to require more bodies.

The Commander stopped a short distance from the line and surveyed the layout, drinking in the mercenaries and the people in line. It was going to be a hell of a fight. The man's apprehension could be read, but only because Kane had seen that so many times. It was not fear that Commander was facing. It was a hundred computations, dozens of projected outcomes and possibilities. That was good.

"Easiest way to Archangel right now is through that door" the mercenary noted, grunting with displeasure at the line. "Look at those goddamn idiots. The Blue Suns are driving the recruitment, which means this line is going straight into the action, being used as cannon fodder."

"What are you thinking, Shepard?" Jacob's hand lingered on the butt of his folded-up shotgun. The dark-skinned Cerberus agent had been antsy since stepping off the boat. His source of irritation seemed to come from the battle-scarred mercenary. There was history there, not personal history, but something in the armorer's past had him way regarding Zaeed, or his ilk.

"Inverted Trojan Horse" the Commander stated, letting out a slow breath. "Sign on with the Blue Suns, find a way to rush in and make contact with Archangel, then shoot our way out."

"That's not a very good plan."

"We don't have very many options."

"Luckily, neither do they." Miranda discretely tapped her omnitool, and the crewmembers checked their screens. "I hacked their network. The location is deep in the machine district. Limited aerial mobility, and no room for anything heavier than a large mech. If we do not get trapped in a corner, we have the capability to force our way out."

"We do have a significant amount of firepower on our side" Jacob agreed. He shrugged his shoulders, shifting the weight of the bulky grenade launcher slung across his back. That weapon alone set them apart from the line of hopefuls looking for work. More than a few had eyed their team with undisguised awe and fear. Compared to the light armor and subpar weapons of these Omega dwellers, the Commander's team may as well have been Astartes.

"We don't have time to sit back and work out a full plan, so we'll be winging this a bit. Keep your weapons ready and your heads locked tight."

Starting forward with renewed motivation, Commander Shepard strode up to the doors, completely forgoing the line. None of the locals complained, their mouths clamping firmly shut at the train of arms and armor that passed by. The Blue Suns guard outside the door gave a double-take when they drew close, his batarian eyes flicking across them all in a frantic heartbeat, no doubt panicking at the assumption he was about to get gutted where he stood.

"We're here to sign on" Shepard told the man, making it sound like an order. "Letting us through?"

"Uh, sure. Yeah. This way." The mercenary stumbled over his words. He moved hurriedly out of the way, gesturing limply with his hand to the door. The Commander gave him a cold smile and stepped in, waving the others in behind.

Inside, the lush velvet seats had been covered with a cheap translucent tarp, no doubt a stipulation by Aria that the mercenaries did not trash her den of sin and vice. A pair of Blue Suns stood on the inside of the door, starting in surprise when the newest entrees were armed and armored like professionals. A third sat at a desk in the center of the room, with a conspicuously clean desk lacking paperwork, or money. The desk-guard cocked his head to examine them as Shepard walked right up to the table.

"Well, you're a sight. If you're looking for work, you're in the right place. You an outfit?"

"We're a group interested in the work."

The _batarian_ grimaced. "A 'group' like you seems a bit high-grade for a mop-up work."

"We've got time to kill" the Commander stated, his face carefully neutral.

"Pay is 500 credits, payable after Archangel is dead. Non-negotiable, and money is not forwarded to family, friends or coworkers. Any questions?"

"Seems straightforward."

"Sign here then." The _batarian_ tapped the sheet on the desk. "Tell your cheerleader to take a hike. Archangel's dug in like a Khar'shan bloodtick, and it'd be a shame to lose a pretty face like that."

Miranda bristled noticeably at the remark, her eyes narrowing with a flint-like gleam.

"She'll handle herself."

Shepard motioned for them all to sign. Miranda made a point of staring down the creature as she signed. Once they were done, the Commander gestured for them to turn and step out and clear the room. The xenos barked short directions as they left on where to go.

A youth stood on the other side, nearly leaping out of his skin in shock when Kane nearly bowled him over. Scurrying hastily to the side, the youth muttered what must have been a curse and stared.

"Hey, uh, is this where I sign up?"

Even though he could not answer, Kane took a moment to inspect the boy. Young, barely an adult, with no armor to speak of and a pistol. Eyes dilated with adrenaline, possibly under the influence of drugs. A child playing at war. He lacked spine and honesty of intent. This was not Imperial citizen stepping forward to fight to defend his home. This was a fool looking for something new.

The Commander must have had the same conclusion. "You look a little young to be freelancing as a merc."

"I'm old enough! I grew up on Omega" the boy insisted, "and I know how to use a gun."

"So does Archangel" Jacob warned. The boy flinched, his false courage wavering in the face of stronger men.

"Well… I can handle myself." He waved his pistol for courage. "And I just spent fifty credits on this piece, and I want to use it."

Shepard moved like lightning; storming forwards, he punched the kid back a step and ripped the pistol from his grasp. Two quick jerks of his hand dislodged the heat sink and flipped the sidearm over. He rapped the boy in the chin with the butt of his pistol before shoving the now-empty pistol into the boy's grip.

"Get your money back. You'll thank me later."

Following the Commander's lead, Kane whispered quietly a strengthening litany.

" _He who dwells in the shelter of the Emperor…"_

This place was a curse. He could not wait to have it in the past.

His gait landed him alongside Officer Lawson. The Cerberus agent had a hard scowl on her face, and her thoughts seemed to be drawn to a distant horizon. Undoubtedly, her thoughts concerned the coming battle. That was well and proper; it would be a hard fight, and they all would need to be on their best. Still, there was a nagging doubt that prickled in Kane's mind. Something that made him wonder exactly what sort of organization he was standing with.

"I have a question" he grunted, speaking to her without turning his head.

"Don't you always" came her spiteful reply.

"That word he used. What does it mean?"

" _Cheerleader?_ "

"Yes."

"Cheerleaders participate alongside teams in organized sports. Standing on the sidelines with signs and pom poms and chants."

"...why?" He did not understand. The Guard did not see much sporting, except for the kind that soldiers did in the rough when the officers were not around. He tried to imagine what sort of sporting had the space, much less the composure, to… do that.

"Well, when you have two teams in an intense game, the cheering can energize the crowd, and then the team. It is both for the morale of the teams and the morale of the fans."

"Teams?"

She took a measured, slow breath. The kind he had heard many times in his youngest days in the Schola.

"Does your time have competitive sporting?"

"I am sure that some worlds might." He did not betray his disbelief of the possibility. There were those few select worlds that had not experienced the touch of war in even forgotten memory. Perhaps those worlds wasted time and energy on such frivolities. No such thing existed on Cadia. "The only sporting I have seen involve fists and cards."

"Boxing, then? Ringside girls?"

"Brawling in the mud hardly requires a female presence."

"I guess one can take the oddest things for granted." She inclined her head. "We shall have to remedy that."

"If you say so. I cannot say I understand the need for such things. Surely there are more productive ways to spend one's life?"

"You really do only know war?"

"Yes."

The Cerberus agent shook her head. "I am sorry."

"What for?"

Confusion flickered across her face for the briefest moment before she smothered the emotion. "You would be amazed how much life can be enjoyed when peace is at hand."

"I am sure that uncounted citizens of the Imperium have that benefit because of the sacrifices we make fighting the Imperium's foes. It is an honor to fight for mankind." Kane cleared his throat. Some of the lingering mist from the Afterlife had made its way past his respirator. The cloying scent teased his nostrils, and he would have gratefully accepted an opportunity to remove his helmet and expel the odor from his throat. Not in a place like this, however. Too many potential threats surrounded them.

"That is a noble sentiment. You almost sound like you believe it."

"Why would I not?" Even though his face remained hidden, his biting tone erased the smirk that had started to form on her lips. The thoughtful expression vanished, and she nodded towards the upcoming aircar. A pair of mercenaries stood beside it. One wore the Blue Suns armor, the other Blood Pack. It amused Kane to see them side by side, when just a little while ago he had waded through firefights between the two factions. These people were like children: short memories.

"You forgot something," he grunted.

"Did I?"

"After this, the Commander is turning me over to the Alliance. I doubt I'll have much free time with all of your adepts poking and prodding and dissecting out bodies."

"We… do not do that."

"Then how do you possibly learn anything?"

-v-

"This is goddamn suicide" Zaeed muttered, examining the dead freelancer as one of his buddies pulled the corpse out of the street. "He just made that shot through that" he pointed, not that anyone needed a reminder "gap in the barricade. This Archangel is the real deal."

They stood at the edge of the bridger, slightly apart from the other freelancers, owning their little patch of concrete by virtue of being too aware of themselves for the much more nervous hires to approach. The gap was good. He did not need to have any of those people trying to buddy up. Not since they were about to stop them all. This would be less hard than he had expected. Most of them had the look of scum and villainy. Granted, that was most of the population of Omega. He doubted he would lose sleep over any of these.

"The hard part is getting there" Shepard reminded them all. "That's a well-defended apartment block. We dig in, we hold out, we bust out."

He made it sound easy. To a man like Commander Shepard, it probably did. Jacob appreciated the confidence. After surveying the assembled forces of the mercenary trifecta, it would take more than skill and trigger-ability to get through this. The Eclipse had brought mechs. The Blue Suns had a gunship. The Blood Pack had… Blood Pack. It was going to be a hell of a fight.

There were twenty freelancers in this mob, including them. This was the third assault on Archangel, according to the mercenaries. The bodies hastily dragged to the sides of the street told how well the others had gone. How long had Archangel been holed up? Almost six hours now? He must have been taking stimulants to stay up. This siege could not last much longer. The mercenaries seemed to know it. The general strategy that Shepard and Zaeed had reported after walking out of the ad-hoc planning room indicated they had shifted to start locking down escape routes.

The might pose a problem for them, but Jacob had faith that Shepard would find a way.

"Something on your mind" he asked the hulking armored form of Sergeant Kane. The Kasrkin had been even more quiet and surly than on the ship. Something had gone down when the three of them had disappeared. None of them had said a word, but the reek of tension and bad blood stirred the air between them. The other Cadian had noticed it too, but had chosen to not bring it up. Corporal Brunson might not have had any more information, but he seemed to have a reason to keep his mouth shut. That was enough for Jacob.

"That big xenos, the krogan. Garm." The man spoke so flatly that any emotions were impossible to detect. "He'll be tough."

"Are you worried?"

"Prioritizing targets. Your _krogan_ require full charge, but I would recommend a heavy weapon to bring him down. You don't have plasma or bolt technology at hand, so that grenade launcher of yours will be essential. Make sure you save some ammunition for when he comes in."

"What makes you think he'll come in?"

"He will." The Cadian spoke with such gruff confidence that Jacob found himself agreeing. He could not really doubt it himself. No good krogan would sit back while a real fight raged on. And this would be a real fight once they dropped the facade. "Do we have anything to worry with this Zaeed and his comrade Tarak?"

"I have no idea what that thing is saying" the mercenary announced, still looking away. "But I recognize my own name. And Tarak's. If you are worried about my history with him, don't be. He steps up, he's dead meat."

"And that is precisely why I don't trust him" the Cadian growled. "A man whose loyalty means so little has no place in a position of trust."

"You aren't the only one who thinks so."

They all watched a Blue Suns trooper go scurrying across the street. The attack was about to kick off. They could all smell it. The only thing that could interfere now would be if someone stumbled onto Cathka's body in the crates behind the gunship. That had not been the wisest choice. But Shepard had insisted afterwards that it had been a justified risk. As long as it did not bite them in the bum, everything would be fine.

"Stick close, clear your corners, don't lose contact with the team. Eyes out for traps and ambushes, team. I don't want any friendly fire."

That last statement was tossed towards Sergeant Kane. The Cadian gave no visible reply.

"Target is on the second floor," their Blue Suns handler announced. He tapped his helmet twice then pointed towards the barricade. "Freelancers, move out. We'll provide covering fire. Go! Go! Go!"

"Here we go" Jacob breathed.

A spray of suppressing fire erupted from numerous mercenary positioned, peppering the target building's facing with a hail of shot. Taking that as their cue, Shepard led the charge to the nearest ladder and hurled himself up. They followed in line behind him, keeping themselves separate from the other freelancers climbing the center and rightmost ladders. Better for cohesion, and to make sure that they were not flanked.

Jacob was just taking the first rung of the ladder when a freelancer on the middle ladder leapt backwards, tumbling limply to the street. No one hesitated; they understood that to stand still was to die. Muttering a prayer under his breath, Jacob reached the top of the barrier and leapt over.

One by one they landed, pushing forward immediately, advancing from cover to cover as the hint of blue armor in the target building appeared with impressive speed. Always moving, never shooting from the same spot. Archangel was ignoring the covering fire, instead focusing on the more immediate threat of the bodies on the bridge. Three freelancers dropped by the time Jacob had his shotgun out. Waiting for his commander's signal, Jacob bull-rushed forwards, keeping an eye on the nearby freelancers, and waiting for the shot that he would not see coming.

"Last man" the younger Cadian called out as his boots hit the pavement.

"Weapons free" Shepard said over the squad channel, his voice even but tight with rushing adrenaline. "Break for the apartment, take down any in your path. Weapons free!"

Jacob huffed a short breath, leveled his shotgun on the unsuspecting back of a freelancer, and pulled the trigger. The man's body lurched away as if struck by a krogan's backhand, skidding to the side without a sound. The accompanying roar of the team's weapons sent bodies dropping left and right.

Then the Cadians opened fire with their lasguns.

He had been there when they had showed the weapon's capabilities in the ship. A single shot was loud, sharp, and terrifying. Fired in short, controlled bursts, it was a thing of nightmares. A near solid stream of light burst from the lasguns' barrels, slicing through freelancer after freelancer like surgical tools. There wasn't even impact effect. Men just collapsed. The survivors scattered for cover, but with their team spread across the bridge, there was none. A lone survivor from the rear of the assault force charged desperately at Sergeant Kane, firing his submachine gun relentlessly. He was a scarred veteran, probably former Alliance, with good fire discipline. The Cadian's portable shield flared and collapsed under the barrage.

Not even bothering to shoot the man, the Kasrkin let go of his lasgun with one hand and punched the man in the face. The hit dropped him as surely as a gutshot. Lifting the man by the strap of his chestpiece, the Kasrkin growled an epithet that did not translate and hurled the man off the bridge.

Then they ran. Dodging the incoming fire of the mercenaries, who had taken a moment to realize what was going on, Jacob sprinted past the dead freelancers and into the building. A few of the frontrunners had escaped inside. At least two disappeared in an explosion as they tripped a mine. Choosing to follow on their trail, trusting that there would not be a second mine immediately after the first, Jacob leapt over an overturned table. A startled freelancer screamed in fright as Jacob landed beside him. The man's pistol barked wildly, missing. Jacob smacked him with the butt of his shotgun before retreating a step and emptying a shell into the man's chest.

"Clear!" Shepard swept around a corner, his shields flickered as they started to recharge. "Sound off!"

They all offered acknowledgement. Taking a one-second breather, Jacob rolled the freelancer's body out from behind the cover and checked his heatsink. Good to go.

"They're regrouping" Sergeant Kane announced, stacked against the corner, his helmet barely peeking out around the corner. "The confusion will only last for a short time before they launch another assault."

"I know Tarak. He needs to have a plan. Rushing is not his style." Zaeed nodded above his head, to the inner balcony leading to where Archangel had been seen. "We've got at least ten minutes. It would be twenty if the Blood Pack weren't here."

"Good enough." Shepard pointed to each member of the team. "Jacob, Zaeed, Brunson, stay on the ground floor. Prepare it as best you can. We'll be back with Archangel."

-v-

"He hadn't planned this."

Shepard shot the Kasrkin a sidelong glance as they climbed the stairs. Despite the lack of incoming fire, the man had not eased his aggression in the slightest. Perhaps it was for the best; Kane was a formidable soldier and his best was miles ahead of most people Shepard had ever met. If that slipped, something could go horribly wrong. He just prayed that Kane would keep his trigger silent for the next minute. This was a terrible gamble, bringing him up. But Shepard needed Kane to see who they were dealing with, to prevent any mistakes later in the heat of the moment.

Choosing to not reply, Shepard kept his head on a swivel, inspecting for mines or traps. The stairway was cleared, in agreement with what the Kasrkin had surmised.

"This certainly isn't the place for a last stand. With some preparation, it can do."

"No. Too many windows. The walls are not reinforced. A company could devastate this place without trouble."

"Good thing the mercenaries out there don't have a company."

That might have earned a chuckle from some Alliance soldiers he had known. The Cadian merely huffed and rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, his hellgun raised. The narrow corridor ended with a closed and locked door. No visible security beyond standard housing locks. "This is not his base of operations. It is a safe house."

"You know what a safe house is?" Shepard spared the man an amused glance. "I thought you only knew soldiery."

"My unit has performed seven high-risk extractions of priority personnel from active warzones. I also know what cheerleaders are, believe it or not."

"Miranda told you?" It was a silly question, but Shepard decided to push his luck. Having Kane talking again eased some of his misgivings and worries. At least this way he had a read on what went through the man's head.

"..." the larger man stepped up to the door.

The locked cycled open at his approach, winking to a friendly green. Trusting that he was not about to walk into a sniper round, Shepard tapped the key and the door slid open.

The interior had been a living room, quite cozy with numerous couches and a small coffee table. The walls and anything that might have hung from them were pockmarked with hundreds of slim holes from the peppering fire of the mercenaries. Further to the right were rows of bunks, complete with small lockers for personal effects. Where Archangel's team would have rested. The only nod to security were some emergency blast panels that could drop over the windows. The remains of three lay in pieces across the floor.

More importantly, Archangel stood at one of the windows, kneeling half a body's length back to reduce his profile, weapon braced on his arm as he inspected something outside. Turian, as he had suspected. Blue armor, closed-helmet, but with a privatized sniper rifle that he could not possibly have taken from military service in the Hierarchy. It struck him as familiar, that sniper rifle. A heavily modified Incisor pattern. He had not seen too many of those before. That brief thought made him hesitate just inside the door.

Archangel fired, a single shot that echoed mournfully in the too-quiet air. Remaining still for a moment, the turian rolled his neck and shrugged his shoulders, no doubt easing out tired muscles. His movements were stiff and choreographed, a byproduct of the stimulants whose casing lay scattered about the floor. It was a wonder that Archangel was still standing.

A dozen questions lingered on his tongue, but they all fled in a momentary surge of emotion when Archangel reached up and removed his helmet. Tossing it onto a chair, the turian faced them and slumped down against the wall.

"Shepard. Took you long enough."

"Garrus?" He took a half-dozen steps forward before catching himself. Ducking out of any window's view, he scurried forward and skidded to his knees to meet the turian face-to-face. "What are you doing here? It's good to see you!"

"Good to see you too." Garrus wheezed softly and closed his eyes, just for a moment. A faint shimmer of bliss crossed his hardened features as he enjoyed a brief rest. "Thought this was it, until that ugly face crossed my scope. Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Long story. Are you okay?" He immediately started scouring the turian for damage, wounds, anything. A couple minor injuries, one well-bandaged gunshot wound in his leg. Nothing serious. "Damn, you're a lucky son of a bitch."

"Wish I could say the same for my team." Garrus' eyes flicked back open and he regarded Shepard with a subdued grimace that the Specter had not seen for some time. It was like a breath of fresh air in the stale Omega atmosphere. "I've been better, but it's sure good to have a friendly face. Killing mercs is hard work."

"Yeah, and you said I was crazy going after Saren. You took on all of Omega by yourself? Archangel?"

"That's just a name the local's gave me. I'll let you keep calling me Garrus." He eased himself up, remaining propped against the wall, and eyed the others who had come in behind Shepard. His gaze hardened at the sight of Miranda's uniform. "Wearing new colors these days?"

"As I said, long story. We need to get moving. The mercenaries won't hold back forever."

"No, they won't. This is personal for most of them. The leaders, at least. They aren't going to stop until they're dead."

"I got the gist of it from their side." Shepard moved to the other side of the window and peered out. The others had taken up similar positions, with the Kasrkin studying the far side the same way a krogan studied a steak. "Do you have an exit plan?"

"Our shuttle was… disabled. And they have enough fliers in the air to intercept us before we could get far. The Blood Pack has been swarming the whole area to clog up any escaping through the tunnels. Easiest way out is straight across that bridge."

"That bridge has saved my life. It funnels all those witless idiots straight into my scope. But it works both ways. As long as that barricade is there, we won't be walking out as it is."

"If we can take that barricade down, it will be a stroll on _Krieg_ to get out" the Kasrkin muttered gruffly.

Garrus blinked slowly, turning to examine the Cadian with the picturesque stunned expression of a turian strung out on stimulants who had just come across the first language he had ever not understood. "What? Long story, right?"

"You have no idea" Shepard assured his friend. "Alright, there's seven of us. We weather the assault and wait for an opening. They won't have the desire or the ability to dig in for a siege, so they'll be hitting us fast and hard."

"Eclipse are moving" his second-in-command barked. "I see mechs."

"That was fast." Shepard took a look and dodged back immediately as a sniper round punched through the air too close for comfort. "Snipers are up. First floor, prepare to repel mech assault. We'll assist from above."

Jacob radioed back his confirmation, reporting that they had shifted furniture for makeshift barricades.

"Scouts and Eclipse mechs" Garrus announced, switching smoothly into the squad's radio channel. "Prioritize engineers. The local Eclipse rely on their mechs, but their engineers have top-grade equipment. We can do a lot of damage from this vantage point."

A wave of LOKI mechs clambered over the barricade. There were a lot. Dangerous, but in these quarters their numbers did little to help. Too many targets would be moving through too narrow an area.

"With your permission, I am going to the first floor." Kane took a step back from the window and waited for Shepard's response. "Their number mean we will need close quarters combat, and I am certain that your people have much less experience than I do."

"Do it" he agreed. "Watch yourself down there."

Garrus fired first, taking a LOKI's head off. Taking that as their signal, Shepard's team unleashed a blistering hail of fire into the wave of stomping mechs, Several fell, but the others advanced without fear, their limited programming ordering an advance at all costs. In small numbers, LOKI were a nuisance. They were not much tougher than a standard combatant, but their nonorganic composition necessitated actual kill shots to incapacitate them, and their targeting systems made them worryingly accurate with small arms even when on the move or taking fire. They were a suppression tool, and in large numbers like this, they were damned effective. As the LOKI acquired targets, their weapons began to pour accurate sustained fire into windows, corners, and anywhere else the team showed their heads. The whining crack of near-misses filled Shepard's ears as he dodged in and out of cover, firing relentlessly at the incoming wave.

The lasguns wreaked a heavy toll, powerful lasbeams tearing the mechs apart each time they connected, which was often. Backed by biotic **throws** from Jacob, the team blunted the mechs at the end of the bridge. Hardly needing to aim, they poured fire into the bridgehead. Had the situation remained untouched, the Eclipse assault would have gone nowhere.

Then the second wave piled over the walls. Actual Eclipse troopers in characteristic golden armor advanced with a barrage of biotics and hacking strikes. Miranda swore loudly as her Tempest flared suddenly, the heatsink catching on fire in a spontaneous burst. Tossing the weapon away, the Cerberus agent pooled a corona of biotic force into her fists and threw two wide **throws** at her attacker. The first dissipated against the engineer's failing shields, but the second caught the salarian in the chest and hurled it shrieking into the void.

"Weapon's down. My biotics will be more useful on the ground" she called out, already sprinting for the door. A slight commotion sounded in her wake, and their scarred mercenary recruit rushed in, speed-limping to a window.

"Ankle took a glancing hit" the mercenary explained, throwing himself into a firing position and engaging the Eclipse below. "Won't be any good down there. Besides, your hulking friend has that covered."

Choosing to not ask what that meant, Shepard continued selecting targets and bringing them down with ferocious bursts. The Eclipse had a lone asari in the mix, and her outline glowed from behind its cover as the alien unleashed **warp** after **warp** at his men below. Two more Eclipse troopers protected her, using reinforced shields to keep the biotic safe from incoming fire.

"Asari, right side, two pillars back. Anyone got a shot?"

"Grenade out" came the thunderous yell a second later. A clunky, pineapple-shaped device hurtled out onto the bridge. For the briefest second Shepard allowed himself to wonder at the old-fashioned weapon. Modern grenades were sleek and disc-like. This one reminded him of an early gunpowder-age device.

The grenade landed near the three, but not as close as Shepard would have hoped. One of the Eclipse troopers even glanced down at the grenade, clearly surprised by the appearance of such an arcane weapon. The explosion tore through their shields and sent blood and gore spraying across the bridge, flattening every standing body within a half-dozen meters. A painfully-loud thunderclap shattered the sound of combat and left the rest of the Eclipse reeling.

For several numbing seconds, the gunfire ceased. Shellshocked Eclipse troopers stumbled into view from cover, clutching their heads or severed limbs as their minds tried desperately to overcome the sensory overload.

The lasguns fired again, mercilessly scything the Eclipse down.

"Sniper teams, two o'clock." Garrus reported, calmly relaying the information with emotionless precision.

Confident that the troops on the ground had the bridge covered, Shepard focused his attention on the new threat. Distant shapes danced in and out of cover, appearing for a few seconds at a time before firing and displacing. Their exchanges evolved into cat-and-mouse in seconds, with constant movement to draw out the Eclipse and eliminate them before they disappeared.

"Third assault! They're bringing a YMIR in."

" _Our YMIR_ " Shepard whispered under his breath.

An Eclipse cargo hauler zoomed in, swooping at dangerous speeds, the pilot clearly looking to spend as little time as possible in front of enemy fire. Its engines flared as it spun about, presenting a well-armored aft ramp that lowered with desperate speed. A third wave of Eclipse came over the barricade at the same time, fronted by disposable LOKI mechs as per standard operating procedure. It was a lot of enemies.

Then again, they had a big ally stepping into the fray.

"It's a spirit's damned YMIR" Garrus breathed. His Incisor barked furiously as he fired at the mech while it dropped from the shuttle to land with a thud on the bridge that Shepard could feel ripple through his bones. "Jaroth is leading. The Eclipse are going all-in."

"That problem…" he dropped an Eclipse trooper holding a portable rocket launcher. "Should take care of itself.

The first two Eclipse troopers to rush behind the YMIR for protection promptly died before they realized their mistake. Tossing the bodies away with a ferocious backhand, the towering mech turned about and faced the startled Eclipse team. The spooling whine of its machinegun powering up sent them diving for cover. In the confined quarters of the bridge, they didn't stand a chance. Heavy slugs tore through shields and flesh with ease, while its rocket munitions tore apart the bridge pillars and hurled broken bodies about Their morale broke, and all thoughts of killing Archangel were replaced with the raw desire for survival. Jaroth's high-pitched shouts of indignation echoed across the way. Shepard tried to line up a shot, but the salarian leader was quick to find cover, dodging frantically from pillar to pillar, always keeping a body between himself and incoming fire.

"What the hell?" Garrus held his fire, watching the carnage unfold.

"I updated its targeting parameters before we stepped off."

"Ah. So we're friendlies?"

"Didn't have the time. I made it consider everything an enemy."

"Oh."

"Yup." Both paused to watch the YMIR rock backwards as a pair of rockets from the Eclipse brought its shields down. There weren't many left. The others had fallen silent, choosing to conserve ammunition while the mech savaged the mercenaries. "Team, start drilling down the YMIR. It'll turn on us once the Eclipse are gone. Let's mop this up."

They whittled down the YMIR, taking advantage of its depleted shields. The lasguns scored dark streaks against its armor, but their ability to bypass shields meant little due to the mech's thick armor and miniaturized components. The vital systems were hard enough to damage with a trained eye; the Cadians knew nothing about the mechs and did not know where to target for maximum damage. Seemingly recognizing his lack of familiarity, the Kasrkin targeted for joins, correctly surmising that they were weak and easier to target. Its heavily armored plating would blunt most of the damage, but its weapons systems were vulnerable. A sustained volley reduced its machinegun to slag just as the last Eclipse troopers fell. Only Jaroth remained, huddled up out of sight, silent and alert. Like a cornered animal. No Blue Suns or Blood Pack came to the barricade or overlooks to assist him. He was on his own.

Already weakened by the close range Eclipse fire, the YMIR was smoking and jerking about spasmodically as it turned towards Shepard's team. A heavy grenade arced out from below, courtesy of Jacob, and the mech collapsed backwards as the explosive shell crumpled its skull. Falling with a crunching grind of wailing pistons, the mech toppled against a pillar and lay slumped on the bridge. Jaroth scuttled up behind it, using the bulky body for cover.

"Damn you, Archangel! You're dead! You're all dead!"

"He's got spunk" Shepard muttered, searching the YMIR's profile for a sign of the salarian. "You killed his brother?"

"Should have killed Jaroth first. His brother was scum, but Jaroth is a survivor. If I had started with him, I would have ended the Eclipse presence weeks ago."

"Well, here's your cha-"

With a scream of rage, Jaroth rose from cover, a grenade launcher in his hands. He fired wildly, sending three grenades downrange before the combined fire of Shepard's team sent his corpse skidding across the bridge.

"That's all of them" Garrus stated, sweeping the far side with his scope. "Blood Pack and Blue Suns have gone to ground. Must have decided they wanted Jaroth out of the way more than they wanted to get in on the action."

"No honor among thieves" Shepard agreed. "That, or they didn't want to tangle with a YMIR."

"I'll take it." Relaxing his grip, Garrus shifted away from the window and retreated to one of the couches, slumping down in the cushions. "Spirits, that feels good. One down, two to go. Did you catch a hint of their plan, Shepard?"

"They weren't open about it, but I gathered they are going to make a push from the tunnels."

"Those doors are locked down there, but I did not have time to properly secure them. Really, the only way would be to collapse the tunnels, but not without endangering the structural integrity of the surrounding chamber."

"Then we'll just have to hold them off."

"My engineer…" he gestured wearily downstairs, "had worked up a program to seal hatches here. It's not much more complicated than a standard override, except it purges the software afterwards, so the only way to fix the door is either to blow the whole thing in or reinstall the software on the panel."

"I'm assuming that those doors are starship grade?"

"It'll take dedicated explosives to knock them open. I haven't had time to get down there and secure them. Not with my entire team dead."

"Good thing we showed up then. Can you put it on my omnitool?"

The turian fiddled with his omnitool for a moment before Shepard caught the transfer and uploaded it.

"If you don't mind, I'll stay up here. Rest my eyes a bit."

"I'll leave half my team here, on lookout. How many doors down below?"

"Three. One to the hangar, two to the tunnels."

"They're as good as closed."

-v-

This was combat as he was familiar with. Crushing the snarling vorcha's face under his boot as he stalked up to the panel, Kane drew his sidearm and fired a short burst down the hall, dropping two more of the vermin and sending the rest skittering back for cover. These things reminded him of Orks in mindset. They drew manic courage from numbers, but once broken they were utterly contemptible.

"Hallway clear" he called back. Shepard was only a few feet behind, hastily wiping steaming vorcha gore off of his rifle.

"I hate flamethrowers" the Commander grumbled, pressing his omnitool to the panel and activating the override.

"Be glad these are not promethium. Your flamethrowers are child's toys."

The hatch slid closed, the green light of the panel winking orange, then fading with an afterglow. The first door had required little effort, merely a short sprint to the hatch. As it had closed, they had seen the first vorcha in the distance. By the time they had flanked over to this tunnel, the pesky creatures had already reached the hatch, led by a flamethrower team. The impatient beasts had given their position away too soon, firing as they came around a blind corner, giving them both time to dive for cover. Working strange technoscience on his arm-mounted device, the Commander had caused the flamer to explode, bathing the entire vorcha team in flames. At such close range, the rest had panicked and retreated.

"Is there anything you've seen that you don't disparage?"

Ignoring the dark look the Commander sent him, Kane started back the way they had come. Officer Taylor had remained at the primary chamber, keeping their rear covered in case the other entrance was breached. Vorcha guts dripped from the bulkheads, a steaming goo that clashed with his respirator's systems. Even the air tasted cleaner here than on an Imperial ship, or the hives. This time was so painfully… clean.

Jacob Taylor half-turned to check who had stepped through the hatch. Seeing his comrades, he nodded and gestured to the far door. "Heard noise on that side, but nothing's come through. They must be waiting for all three groups to call in."

"That's not going to happen" Shepard grunted. He motioned for them to approach the inner door to the hangar, a much less defensible point due to the size of the doors and the flimsier materials. "Stack up, we're going in hard and fast. Blood Pack started an assault up above. That's the signal these ones are probably waiting for."

Kane went to the opposite side of the door as the Commander and his armorer. Pulling out his auspex, he confirmed over a dozen signatures in the next room. Possibly more; several of the signatures were close enough to each other to distort the clarity. "They are not deployed in a defensive position around the door. Strike fast and hard."

The Commander activated the door, and the three humans charged into battle again.

Vorcha died in droves. Their teeth-filled snarls dropped away as quickly as they appeared, obliterated by las blasts and lead. One charged with a pair of pistols, firing wildly as it shrieked in its guttural dialect. Kane fired a burst into its torso, nearly severing it at the waist, sidestepping the tumbling corpse, and pushed further into the hangar. After the first wave, the vorcha further back and broken and ran for cover. The chittering xenos fired blindly around their cover, filling the room with stray shots as they attempted to suppress the team.

"Get to the door" the Commander shouted, his voice booming over the gunfire. "Jacob, move left. Kane, center. I'll push right."

Registering the command, Sergeant Kane counted to three in his head before spinning around the corner, only to be knocked onto his back as a barreling missile of slavering muscle slammed straight into his chest. A snuffling growl spat into his face as drooling jaws clacked and snapped, held back by an instinctive arm shoved forward to keep this thing back.

Abandoning his hellgun, Kane scrambled for his knife. A tooth smashed into his visor, and its slobber blurred his vision. Dull claws raked at his chestplate, each strike like a punch from a fully grown man. Cursing loudly, Kane gave up on the knife and braced the arm holding the creature at bay. Using every ounce of his strength, he shoved it up and away, lifting it just a few centimeters, but forcing its head up and away. Launching an off-balance jab, he crushed its throat and roll his upper body out from under it. The beast let out a pained howl and thrashed, scraping at anything in reach. Snatching up the hellgun again, Kane smashed it stock into the side of the thing's head, knocking it aside and freeing his lower body from under it.

"Kane!"

"Working on it" he called back. Not pausing to inspect the thing that had attacked him, Kane allowed the pict recorder in his helmet to catch a glance and pushed onwards. Both of his comrades had made it halfway down the room. Flamer teams had appeared, bathing the room in a hellish glow as gouts of fire sprayed outwards. Switching to full power, Kane put several shots through their cover until one of the tanks exploded, engulfing a half-dozen of the creatures.

"Reinforcements incoming!" A purple glow appeared from Officer Taylor's cover. The infernal purplish light that wasn't warp energy lashed out, catching two vorcha and yanking them into the air. Commander Shepard shredded them, and the remaining scattered for better cover.

In the distance, past the armored hatch that was their objective, two air cars zoomed closer, painted in the ugly red of the Blood Pack colors. His briefing on Blood Pack combat doctrine inclined him to believe that those would be filled with krogan. After an initial assault of mass vorcha, the krogan would swoop in to clean up the remaining enemies. Those would be tougher, but better armed. With only three bodies, they lacked the ability to contain a sustained firefight. And combat was occurring upstairs as it was; they did not have time for a protracted battle.

"Moving to the access panel. Cover me!" The Commander had the same conclusion. Leaping over his cover, the Commander sprinted straight for the hatch. The vorcha moved immediately to stop him, sensing an easy target. Most rose out of cover entirely to shoot, forgetting the battle around them. Kane fired as quickly as he could acquire targets, slaying the vorcha by the handful. From his position in the center of the room, he also had a clear line to where the aircars were landing. The first swung around to deposit its occupants, presenting its port side in its unobscured glory.

Trusting that Officer Taylor would keep the Commander covered, Kane switched his attention to the transport. He did not wait for the hatch on the side of the aircar to lift. Sweeping his aim back and forth across the vehicle, he raked the passenger compartment. By the time it opened, krogan bodies slumped out, pushed aside as those still living frantically dove out of the aircar. Fully half of the xenos remained down, the others lumbered forwards, firing their shotguns and rifles. Before they could reach the hatch, Commander Shepard had reached the access panel. The hatch slammed closed, trapping the remaining vorcha inside, a paltry number that proved easy to mop up.

"You okay back there" Jacob asked as he loaded a new heat sink into his shotgun. "Saw that varren hit you. It was a big one."

"Is that what is was?" Kane allowed himself a moment of indulgence to inspect the creature while the Commander made his way back to them. It was an ugly, mutt breed of saurian-canine, with a savage underbite and gaping eyes. Powerful muscles lined its legs and stomach. A true predator, if an ugly one.

"Krogan like them as attack dogs. They're vicious."

"I agree."

"Break's over" Commander Shepard interrupted, slipping past them and breaking into a jog. "Topside is having trouble. We've got to get up there, now."

-v-

The Blood Pack attacked with the grace of a rampaging varren horde.

They attacked _with_ a rampaging varren horde.

 _Jessie_ whined as the heat buildup began to threaten her integrity. Switching to his sidearm, a bog-standard M-3 Predator, he pumped a pair of rounds into the quivering animal and rushed back to the second defense line. The bridge was lost. When Garm sent in his first wave, it had been nothing but varren and vorcha. Grenades and biotics had thinned the pack, but enough had gotten past to devolve combat into frantic close quarters combat. Charging varren were trouble enough. In the confined space of a habitation unit, they were a nightmare. The only saving grace was that they lacked the distance to pick up speed, giving a half-second to react to their coming around a corner before their powerful legs propelled them forwards. Once a varren hit, it was game over. That half-second mattered.

"Coming in" he called out, trusting that the catsuit would hear. She had proven to have competent biotics, but her condescending attitude and overconfidence could be a problem in the future. She was arrogant, and arrogance got people killed.

A **warp** arced out from her position, narrowing missing him as it slammed into a howling vorcha that had just rounded the corner.

"Watch your aim" he snapped, hurdling an overturned table and dropping into cover behind it. Tossing a grenade behind him, he counted down the timer and grinned as the screams of varren and vorcha filled his ears.

"It went exactly where I intended it to" the raven-haired woman said, peering over cover at the other weird human as he retreated into the kitchenette, his weapon firing goddamned lasers that blasted the vorcha apart like they were firecrackers. Zaeed had so many questions, but they had to wait. For the moment he enjoyed the firepower that the exotic weapon brought, and how it dropped the resilient vorcha for good.

"Stop grumbling and kill them already."

"Oh, is that what we're doing?" He rose onto a knee and set his sights down the corridor. A varren bounded around the corner and he drilled a hole in its skull. "I got confused for a minute there."

"Krogan incoming" chirped in his ear. Their Archangel's voice came strained and tense. Constant combat did that to someone. But the warning was crisp, and what they were waiting for. There was no point holding the first floor against krogan. In these tight quarters, the krogan would shred them like blades of grass.

"Back up the stairs" Miranda shouted. Almost as if their companion did not have a radio. The grimfaced youngster handled himself like a professional soldier, rotating out from behind the column at the end of the counter and sidestepping to the stairs, firing short bursts into each entry point in turn to keep the enemy back. Using that to his advantage, Zaeed sprinted for the stairs, the click of the Cerberus agent's shoes ringing behind him. The guttural roar of angry krogan spilled down into the habitation unit, quickening his pace and sending blood rushing through his veins. The second team needed to get back here damn quick. The three of them alone would not be able to hold back Garm's entire krogan force.

"Well, this is fun" he grumbled, to the stranger as the man followed them and pinned to the stairwell's corner. The stranger shot him an exasperated look and muttered something under his breath that Zaeed couldn't catch.

"Just focus on killing them one at a time" Miranda quipped at the man. "And yes, he is necessary."

She had understood that gibberish?

"Arming mines" Archangel informed them. Tiny pinpricks of light appeared throughout the first floor as small palm-sized disk mines armed. There were a dozen or more, perhaps enough to blunt the krogan and even the odds.

"Roll out the welcome mat" Zaeed muttered, toggling _Jessie_ to incendiary rounds. The Cerberus woman took position further along the hall, her Tempest holstered as she flexed her hands. Biotics would only do so much now. Krogan were tough enough that it took an asari's biotics to knock them on their ass.

The krogan charged into the main room, and Zaeed started firing. He concentrated on one at a time, battering at the krogan's thick hide with incendiary shots. The krogan weathered several shots before ducking for cover behind a sofa, only to disappear in a fireball as a mine went off in his face.

The second one in skidded like a crashed bicycle, the top half of his crest missing after a shot from the stranger's laser rifle blew it off. Two more rounds slammed into its corpse. That was overkill, but it sure felt good to watch.

Another krogan crumpled like a broken chair as Miranda dropped a **warp** on it before following up with a **throw**. That was impressive. But that was only two of them, and there were more pouring in. The air filled with lead as the krogan started pouring fire up at them, sending Zaeed scuttling for a different fire point so he wouldn't lose his head.

"What's taking him so long?"

"Believe it or not, Commander Shepard does not in fact kill his foes by giving them nasty looks." She launched a weak **singularity** backhanded towards the bottom of the stairs. Though it lacked the strength to be dangerous, it would stop anything from storming up. Her breathing was a little ragged. The amount of biotics she had pumped out in the past minutes had clearly drained her. A normal human biotic would be on the ground drooling by now.

"You good?"

Drawing her Tempest, she fired at the krogan below, scoring a hit that left a krogan yelping in pain. "Never better."

The krogan stopped shooting suddenly. A powerful silence flooded their ears. Then a powerful bellow erupted from below. Garm's voice boomed like thunder.

"Archangel! We have unfinished business. Come down here and face me, or I'll come up and drag you out of your hole!"

"That's not good. I was hoping he'd wait a bit longer." Zaeed risked a glance down before a barrage of fire sent him ducking for safety. "We aren't stopping him by ourselves."

"Grenades," she ordered, "then fall back to the last room."

"Works for me." Taking his last grenade, Zaeed primed it and waited for her to ready her own before lobbing it over the edge. A torrent fire greeted the flash of motion, but they were already sprinting for the final position.

"Blow the mines" she called out to Archangel. The turian greeted them at the door, covering the hallway as they rushed past and went for cover. This was their last stand position. There was no more retreating. He heard Miranda speaking to Shepard over a private channel.

"Garm's here" Zaeed informed the turian.

"I heard" came the flat reply. Swapping his sniper rifle for an assault rifle, Archangel started firing down the hallway. A pair of heavily armored krogan pounded up the stairs, pushing past the dispersing **singularity** as if it wasn't even there. Zaeed added _Jessie_ to the contribution.

"Anything we should know about why he hates you so much?"

"I almost killed him twice. He regenerates like a freak of nature. I couldn't finish him off."

"Great."

-v-

The vorcha and krogan were all looking up when they charged out of the basement stairwell. That was where they died. Their attention focused upwards, firing suppressive volleys at the team upstairs, they reacted slowly to the new threats on their level. Caught in the flank, many did not have time to find cover before getting shredded by the furious barrage of lasbeams and solid shot.

Garm's four honor guard, large even for their species, clad in ornate armor as ceremonial as it was durable, stonewalled them at the stairs leading up to the second floor. Armed with shotguns and biotics, they laid a hellish fire down any time either of the three moved into view. Grenades would flush them out, but Kane had one left, and precious few back on the _Normandy_.

So it was time to do it the hard way.

"Garm's in" Miranda's voice called out from above, nearly drowned in the firefight. A thunderous roar chased her words, coming from the same location. "We need a hand, Shepard!"

"Working on it" the Commander shouted. He rose from cover for half a second, just long enough to gesture with his omnitool. Something exploded weakly up the stairs. "One's weapon is down."

"I'll take this" Kane called out, rushing past Shepard. Pellets ricocheted off his shield, the archaic device whining and sparking as it stopped the rounds. Truly a marvel of technology. Hurling himself up the stairs three at a time, he fired a dozen rounds into the first krogan as it stepped out to greet him, drilling a gaping hole through its torso. He threw his shoulder into it, knocking it flat on its back, and turned to face the remaining three snarling xenos.

His hellgun clicked.

"Ah…"

One of the xenos bellowed a challenge and charged forwards. Tossing the hellgun to the side, Kane unholstered his sidearm and knife, preparing to meet it in close combat. It did not swing its shotgun. It did not even draw a weapon. It struck him with a bone-shivering headbutt that tossed him backwards and sent him sliding across the floor, slamming into the corpse of another krogan.

His vision spinning, Kane thrust out his hand and fired blindly down the corridor. With three bulky xenos in the way, he couldn't miss. Even though his aim was awful, arm wavering from disorientation, he heard the screams and did not release the trigger until it also clicked.

The Commander cautiously appeared, sweeping the dead with his rifle. "You good, Kane?"

Not waiting for an answer, he charged down the hallway to the last of the fighting. As Kane blinked away his dizziness, he spotted an enormous krogan tearing through the room, beset on all sides by frantic gunfire. The new one, the mercenary, rolled over a couch milliseconds ahead of a furious blast that ripped a hole through the couch.

"Come on," Officer Taylor grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "That head still attached?"

"I've had worse." Kane holstered his sidearm and drew the commissar's power sword. Flicking the activation nub, he breathed a long sigh and started forward. "Let's kill this bastard."

The hulking krogan leader swung a long-shafted hammer in a wide circle as Kane entered the room, sending the Commander's team ducking for cover. In his other hand he held a weapon the size of a man's torso, fitted with an ugly bayonet dripping with fresh blood. It reminded him of a Ripper gun, the kind that Ogryn's used, but smaller. A host of bullets pinged off its shields and punched into his armor, but none of the wounds seemed to bother the krogan. It laughed as it spun about, crashing the hammer into a table that exploded in a spray of splinters. Their mysterious target scuttled away from the table, limping badly.

"You're going to run out of hiding places before I run out of hammer, Archangel. Your pathetic allies," he paused to angle his other weapon towards Officer Lawson. Her eyes widened and she threw up a rippling purple **barrier** just in time. The force of the impact still knocked her back a step and she staggered towards other cover, sweat pouring from her face. "Are nothing! I'll kill them all like I killed your team."

Kane stopped in the doorway, sizing the creature up, then charged. The krogan turned to inspect the new arrival, a throaty chuckle pushing its way past his lungs.

"And what are you, you brought a sword to a krogan fight."

Kane swung diagonally from above, ideally aiming to cut the krogan's arm off and bisect its chest. The xenos hulk threw its hammer to intercept the blow. Blue sparks spat out as the power sword cleaved the hammer just above the krogan's hand, taking the head off and burying the tip deep into the creature's shoulder. Garm howled with real pain, but did not lose the presence of mind to drive Kane back with a thrust of his headless, but no less dangerous hammer shaft. The shaft was metal, and the end was now incredibly sharp.

"Ah, that actually hurt." Garm rolled his arm and tossed his shotgun away. "This, I like. This is a real fight."

Before he the krogan could advance, the loud crack of a sniper rifle fired at close quarters rang through the room. Garm flinched forwards, then turned and snarled at the shooter.

"I'll get to you in a-"

The distraction gave Kane the opening to leap forward and thrust. Dancing back with surprising dexterity for one of its size, Garm slapped the blade aside with his pole and threw a punch that could have taken Kane's head clean off his shoulders. Instead he twisted to the side, years of training and instinct serving him well, and realigned his strike to take off Garm's good arm at the elbow. His meaty hand flopped to the ground, pole clenched in death's grasp.

Stunned by the sudden loss, the krogan hesitated, shock flooding his nervous system. Not letting it have a moment to collect itself, Kane stabbed it through the chest where a human heart would be, then ripped the blade downwards, opening the xenos from collar to groin. It stumbled forwards, mouth working to spit out a curse. Kane's backhand took off its head, splitting it between its jaws.

Garm toppled to the ground with a weighty thump.

Giving the blade a cursory flick to ensure it was clean, he deactivated the power field and reverently sheathed it. It had drawn its first blood in this new world of theirs. And it had served him well. It was a good blade, a tad light for his liking, but for a smaller human like the commissar, well enough. Turning back to the door, he replaced the power pack on his pistol and inspected the others.

Several showed wound, nothing serious. Battered, bruised, scraped and bleeding. Corporal Brunson picked himself up from underneath a collapsed bunk bed, his eyes glassy and his gait unsteady. His lasgun lay several feet away. Clearly he had let the xenos get too close.

"That's two down" Shepard heaved, slumping down beside Archangel to catch his breath. "Woo, aren't you glad we showed up?"

"Why does he had a sword" the turian asked.

"Are you complaining?"

"...no."

"It's a-"

" _Long story?_ "

The Commander grinned and slapped the xenos on the shoulder. Kane's lip curled in a sneer, and he stalked out of the room to fetch his hellgun.

-v-

"Can't believe that one can walk." Zaeed stared down the corridor, watching the hulking figure stomp over the cluster of krogan dead as if they were exterminated pests.

"What do you mean" Jacob asked, shooting the man a questioning glance as he and Brunson pushed Garm's corpse to the side of the room.

"His balls must be the size of cantaloupes, and made of titanium too. What sort of psychopath charges a krogan armed with a sword?"

"That's not just a sword" the corporal grumbled, sucking in a deep breath before throwing his weight into the krogan. The body shifted slowly, unwilling to give ground. He wondered why they were putting his much effort into moving a perfectly good sandbag to the side when they could use it to fortify the room.

"And why is it I can't understand a damn word those two have said?" Zaeed glared at the Cadian, making his displeasure known, and heard, for again. "There isn't a human-native dialect that we don't have built into the translators. Hell, they could be clicking their tongues and we'd still get it."

"Is he going to shut his mouth?" Brunson heaved again, and the body rolled off the carpet and onto the tiled floor. The loss of friction let the body slide suddenly, nearly throwing him off balance. His lasgun slid loose from his shoulder, hardened stock clattering against the floor. "Throne, this bastard is heavy. What's the skinny on the last group?"

"Blue Suns are the last ones in" Shepard announced. They all stopped what they were doing and turned to watch. The Commander had pulled himself to his feet and stood in the center of the room, his weapon drawn but held at ease. "They're the toughest, and the smartest, but it's nothing we haven't seen before."

"Tarak's going to hit us soon" Zaeed stated. "Try and charge in before we can recover. Multiple fronts, moving fast. Overwhelm and outmaneuver."

"Bridge" Shepard asked.

"Bridge, balcony, kitchen. He'll send in via air cars, rappelling, any direction he can think of."

Further questions were cut off a the distant whine of a flier rose in the air. Leaving the body where it lay, Brunson scrambled over to a window and took overwatch on the bridge. The others did likewise, a few breaking out of the room and moving to defensive positions across the habitation unit. He shifted back behind the wall, tracking the nimble gunship as it whipped past, spraying the front of the building with its machine guns as it strafed past. A small part of his mind grinned with astonishment at the dexterity of the craft, flitting about like a bird rather than a hulking vehicle of metal and circuitry. The rest of his mind translated the rate of fire of its guns, the speed of its thrusters, and started the instinctual calculations that would draw his aim where it needed to go.

Flying close behind the gunship were several air cars, unarmed, whistling by. Knowing what would follow, Brunson tracked the air cars and shouted their location out, using his micro-bead to signal the Kasrkin. "Troops landing, balcony, second floor! Shifting to engage."

He moved from the window and rushed to the collapsed bunk beds. Smashing the last intact post so that it dropped flat on top of the other. The _turian_ slid into position beside him. His skin prickled, reflexively checking the xenos' weapons and armor, profiling the threat.

"Let the first one land" Archangel shouted. "I've got a trick for them."

Four transports came into view over the balcony. The first one swooped in to hover just a man's height above the landing. Hatches slid open, and a full squad of mercenaries in Blue Suns armor leapt down, tossing grenades for suppression. Standard operating procedure in a combat drop. According to training, that is.

The problem with too much focus on the enemy meant too little focus on the landing site. Archangel held up a detonator and depressed the trigger. Three furious explosions engulfed the squad and their transport. When the smoke cleared, smoking body parts lay all across the balcony, and the air car was spinning away.

Undeterred by the failure of the first wave, the next air car slid right into the same slot. This time half the squad dropped down while the second half laid down fire. Taking that as their cue, Brunson shifted forwards and opened fire in short bursts, targeting one enemy after the next. The others added their weight to the counter fire. In seconds, the long room was nothing but a shooting gallery.

"Make way for the next squad" one of the Blue Suns shouted out. The powerfully built woman, with blazing red hair and a light machine gun, rose from cover and rushed forward to the next set of beds. Her shields sparked frantically as the others tried to bring her down before she dropped the beds and huddled behind them.

"Second team, ground floor" Commander Shepard called out suddenly. "Jacob, Kane, with me! Garrus, hold this down!"

"Watch the gunship!"

Most of the mercenaries had chosen to hide, firing wildly from their cover, putting enough lead in the air to keep their heads down. Brunson flinched as a shot impacted directly in front of his face. Tracing the shot back to its owner, he dropped the mercenary with a careful pair of shots through the xenos' cover. More fell as heavy firepower chewed through their positions or caught them when they tried to move from one spot to the next. A third air car was landing, this one facing engines' towards them to prevent any shooting into the compartment bay. More bodies leapt out, some armed with launchers and heavy weapons. Those were the ones to worry about.

He shifted fire appropriately.

A spinning grenade arced out from the Blue Suns. Miranda Lawson caught it midair with a purple light and hurled it back in their faces. The explosion tossed shattered bodies about, just in time for a half-dozen more to take their places.

"Enemies in the kitchen" Zaeed called from behind. The mercenary alternated between firing down the room and leaning into the interior railing to fire down into the kitchenette. "This is getting hairy."

"Then let's shave it down." Brunson tapped the _turian_ and held a grenade out. Archangel nodded and grabbed one of his own. Without needing to speak the same language, the intent was clear. They tossed their grenades together. The Blue Suns shouted warnings.

Then the explosions flattened everything.

-v-

"Right side, stairwell!" Shepard called out the engineer as the salarian scuttled forwards, sticking to a planter for cover. Before the Blue Suns merc could lock down his cover, a brilliant scarlet beam blew out the salarian's chest and sent him crumpling to the floor.

"Let side, two with a launcher!" She sucked in a deep breath, careful to fill her lungs to capacity, and drew strength once again into her fists. This extended battle was draining her faster than she would have liked. It had been too long since her last long engagement. She was dangerously out of practice. Even with the insane speed and repetitiveness of the mercenary assaults, her energy was flagging. She should have had Jacob grab an extra nutrition bar. It was easy to forget how quickly biotics could drain a person when they were seldom called upon.

Fire surged through her fingers, pooling in the palm of her hand, and she released it at the Blue Suns human with the launcher. Her **throw** struck the man from above, smashing him into the floor hard enough to crack the tile into little fragments. She shivered as bullets chased her back into cover. Pulse racing, lungs sucking for breath. Time to put the biotics aside. She fired a blind burst from her Tempest in the direction of the Blue Suns below.

"You pack a punch" the Kasrkin muttered, leaning out over the stairwell to spray a hail of lasbeams into the Blue Suns positions.

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" She grit her teeth as a dull thud shook the wall, rattling her bones.

"Acknowledgment of your ability to make the other side dead." He released his grip on the hellgun to draw his sidearm and fan shots into three Blue Suns that were entering through the broken windows they had come through. One never landed, tumbling backwards into the void. The second crumpled against the edge of the window, stuck lifeless on the line.

"Is that how you compliment people in your time?"

"What's a compliment?" He slapped a new charge pack into the hellgun. "That was a joke."

"Grenades!"

Shepard's warning gave them the second they needed to defend. Grenades were the textbook way to clear a fortified position. Her biotics were one of the few things keeping them alive. They could only deflect so many, and the Blue Suns had brought launchers in number.

Throwing her strength into a biotic field, she hurled a **barrier** in front of each opening they were using. Several grenades sunk into the field, freezing in place as they detonated in muted bursts. One got past her, whipping up the stairwell. Kane turned away from it, slamming into Miranda and covering her body as the explosion rocked them both and nearly knocked her off her feet.

"Sound off!"

"Healthy" the Kasrkin screamed, his voice booming to compensate for shock-addled hearing.

"Alive" Miranda sputtered, coughing as her lungs struggled to draw in air. The man's heavy armored had nearly crushed her. There would be bruising after this was over.

"They're rushing the stairs!"

Releasing her as quickly as he had grabbed her, Kane returned to the stairwell. She pulled herself back to the window and looked out. A whole team of Blue Suns were moving forwards, charging for the stairs while the rest laid down fire. "We need support!"

"No we don't."

The Kasrkin swept out to greet the squad, hellgun tearing them to ribbons where they stood. Caught in the open, in the stairs, they died gruesomely. One managed to stumbled to the top step, a bloody hand flopping lifeless on the landing. A contemptuous kick sent the body skidding back down the steps, colliding with the others and setting off an avalanche of broken bodies.

The loss of their assault force broke the morale of the rest of the Blue Suns. Panicked cries rose from the horrified mercenaries, and several broke cover in an attempt to flee towards the bridge. The Kasrkin showed no mercy as he gunned them down. Miranda held her fire, watching in astonishment as they fell. Did the man even know how to take prisoners, or show restraint.

"Blue Suns are bugging out" Shepard relayed to the team. "Balcony?"

"Clear" Jacob reported over the radio. "Gunship is buzzing. Heads down, its coming in hot!"

She stole a glance down the corridor, listening to the zooming engines drawing close. The corridor was a deathtrap. There was nothing to hide behind. "Clear the corridor!"

The gunship swung into view, flitting past the distant window in the blink of an eye. In that terrifying heartbeat, a stream of lead poured into the corridor. She threw up a **barrier** that blocked the first dozen bullets, giving them time to drop to the floor. Once again, the Kasrkin threw himself in the way, rolling on top of her, as her **barrier** failed. His body quivered as several rounds struck, and hot blood splashed across her face.

"Shepard!"

Then it was over, the gunship whistling away for another run.

She scrambled to her feet, expecting Kane to rise with her. His body slumped facedown as she stood, blood pooling beneath him.

"Shepard, Kane's down!"

Pushing his body onto his back, she checked frantically for wounds. Two in his gut, caught between his armored plates, and one in his neck that had nearly torn his head off. Ripping his helmet free, she checked his eyes; they were dilated and wide as saucers.

"Get me up" he gasped, sucking shallow breaths. His hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled. "Not… done… yet."

"Stay down! Shepard, I need medigel!"

The _whump_ of grenade launchers targeting the gunship punched through the shriek of its engines. The team had its hands full.


	7. Recovery

**Author's Notes: Well, it is finally here. Got caught up in finishing _That Which Is Forbidden_ and honestly just lost interest in keeping this story posted. One of the problems with writing a stories over the years is going back and looking at how much you want to edit/change what you had written. So I more or less have been rewriting this from the ground up. The cutting board is deep here.**

 **Reviewers:  
edboy4926- Glad you liked it!  
Nitus- Ha! Story that gets updated. You jinxed it. The Miranda-Kane dynamic is certainly going to evolve and take some turns you wouldn't expect (and no I am not necessarily talking about Banging the Bongos)  
kukuhimanpr- I loved that mission so much. One of my favorite of the game.  
Guest- WIP  
RoyalTwinFangs- thank!  
Jouaint- lol, finally got around to it exactly 6 months later. Time flies.  
Shalum- Imagine if it was a powerfist... giggle  
BrotherCaptainShepard- All the carnage. Blood for the Blo- I mean, For the Emperor!  
Zeus501- The Mass Effect universe operates on the principle that the universe is morally good. Warhammer fans laugh at such naivety.  
Tom2011- You're welcome!  
Guest 2- I have spent so much time trying to push my writing away from constant long battles it was good to have one that worked again.  
sonic- Thanks!  
ManwithaPlan113- Plot armor? In Warhammer 40k? But he's not an Ultramarine!  
ErnestShippinglane89- Of course Kane wouldn't move to save a vile xenos jailbait or a... wait, she's legal in ME2. No! Heresy!  
BigBoss0694x- It's always a struggle to balance crossovers. Finding that balance of adaption while maintaining uniqueness is pretty rough.  
89ingenting- Glad it worked!  
Ghazkull'slefteye- I always pictured Zaeed caring for Jessie like it were a daughter or something. You know, the gritty old fart with the soft spot for his old gun. It's a classic tale.  
grey- Nah, she won't evolve beyond fond references. Down the road it might come off as a quasi-machine spirit from watching, but Kane wouldn't be the kind of person who could tell for certain.  
Disciple of Ember- CADIA STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDS! I am definitely trying to push the nature of biotics in this, simply to make it less 'space magic' and more 'science magic.' Glad you liked the fight scene(s).  
kyro2009- Oh, I think they realized it about the time a dude challenged a krogan with a sword.  
Gustave-Drakenhime- Brunson might check himself before he wrecks himself. Or he might not. As for the Commissar, she will be waking up... (looks at watch) soonish.  
Unit 5S-Delta- Woo!  
Carre- Oh, normal Scholas would probably have sports. But I would wager the Cadian Schola would be a bit more intense due to... Cadia. Also, even if they had sports, they wouldn't have had spectators and cheerleaders. And yes, Blood Bowl is what I was picturing.  
Allard-Liao- GET OFF MY LAWN!  
SomeGuyOverHere- Because what's more fun that putting a xenophobic asshole in the same room as a turian? The Kane-Miranda thing definitely exploded real quick in the fandom.  
A Random Friend- Pretty sure the joke is "The Imperial Guard." Lol.  
Spartan 626- Well, I won't have the Legion of the Damned show up (although that would be pretty baller) but there will not be just the one crossover event. Something bigger is going to happen way down the road (hint, not Necrons).  
My Myself- The irony of your review is that most of that gets answered in this coming chapter. As you guessed, this wouldn't be explicitly simple time travel. There was definitely a bit of a sideways jink a they went through time.  
Observer01- CADIA!  
Spartan A312- Glad you like it!  
Patsmckraken- The models look cool with backpacks, this is true. But it is objectively cumbersome, and a bit OP for me to have a character that has nearly infinite Hose'o'Death at his beck and call. Magazines scale down his lethality just enough to keep him from being the "easy button."  
Guest 3- Glad you like it! Blake is going to be very much a Commissar, but she will be a bit different than you would expect. That's all I can say.  
Vengeful Astartes- It's back!  
Guest 4- THAT will be an interesting conversation. Hopefully Kane will be a bit toned down in his xenos-hate by then. Thane and him could actually get along fairly well.  
AraelDranoth- Thanks!**

* * *

 _Omega_

Aria stalked over the dead, her expression muted by age-crafted indifference. Nudging one of the fallen krogan to the side, she hooked the tip of her shoe under its shoulder and lifted it, giving a dismissive biotic **push** to roll it over. The charred holes in its torso gaped up at her, taunting, teasing. Most of the other krogan bore similar fatal wounds. A weapon had been present here that she had never seen before, much less heard of. No, that was not true. She knew what had caused this carnage. The weapon had been in her grasp, and she had let it slip away because of simple ignorance. Unforgivable.

One of her own krogan stuck his head out from the balcony above, nervousness still dancing about his kraggy features. The whole area had been cleared by her advance team; the bodies of the vorcha scavengers had been tossed over the bridge to declutter the scene for her investigation. As it was, she had found little of interest or note on this side of the bridge. Just hordes of dead mercenaries and a row of incinerated corpse-shrouds. Archangel and Goddess-damned Shepard had annihilated three full companies from the best mercenary outfits in known space. She knew that this mysterious pattern of flash-burns on the dead had been a key factor.

"Uh… boss."

Rather than reply, she glared up at the krogan who dared interrupt her thoughts. The hulking brute wilted under her icy stare, swallowing nervously as she gave a contemptuous biotic-empowered kick to hurl the corpse aside.

"Found Garm" he called down.

"Dead?" She found herself both surprised, and not, by her own question. Before today, she had wondered if there was a living soul alive who could take down that ancient bastard. Now, the challenge hardly seemed noteworthy.

"Something cut him in half."

That stole her musing and left her standing poised, eyes flicking across the krogan's face, seeking a sign that the thug was making a poor jest. He wasn't. By the Goddess, the krogan was actually squirming, and not because he feared her wrath. There was an entirely uncomfortable edge to him, the kind she had seen when a human male watched another take a hard blow to the genitals.

"Wait there" she ordered, striding to the stairs. The pile of dead at the bottom snatched at her attention, and she allowed herself a moment of fascination at the burned corpses, some nearly blown in half by the weapon. An asari was among them. The shock chiseled into her youthful face warned that her biotics had failed to save her from whatever this weapon had done. That was important to know. She would have to find out how and what this weapon was, and how to protect herself against it.

The krogan stiffened as she entered the room in question, his spine straightening like a support girder. As he had said, the local Blood Pact leader had met his end here. Ends… she thought grimly, eyeing the various parts of body scattered about the room. Someone had shoved his corpse against the wall, possibly to clear room for the rest of the fighting. The downstairs had been a bloodbath, she had told herself. This had been a shooting gallery. Fourteen Blue Sun mercenary bodies lay strewn across the room, trailing back to the fire-blackened landing pad where another half-dozen had fallen. That was not even counting the dozen or so on the primary floor. The Eclipse had failed to pass the bridge. The Blood Pact had failed to pass the stairs. The Blue Suns had made it here, and failed. There were well over eighty corpses here. And none of them were ones she cared about.

"What did this" she snapped, inspected the krogan warlord. Her thug gave no answer; she had not expected him to. Tracing a finger along death-blow, she admired the precision of the cut. The finest asari blademasters could not have landed a blow so precise and strong as to leave this exquisitely clean slash through toughened krogan hide. Her mind drifted immediately to the towering human that had accompanied Shepard. Two new methods of death. The odds were beyond coincidence. "Are they still on Omega?"

"Who?"

"The _Normandy_!" Her head whipped up to the krogan. "Find out, now."

"Yes, boss!" Thoroughly chastened, the krogan hurried out of the room, glad to be rid of it. It amused her to see the krogan so unnerved, as much as she wished she had the luxury to share his uncertainty. Alone now, she released a pent up sigh, pushing up from the ground and wiping her hands on the back of a bullet-ridden couch as she did.

This whole thing was bad news. She had not minded Archangel's antics. It had kept the mercenaries disorganized and off-balance for a time. And he had the intelligence to not go after her interests, so she had allowed him this naive crusade to clean the streets of Omega. Had he turned against her, she was certain she could have ended him easily. Certainly she would not have let him turtle up in a defensively located position such as this. Even by himself, he had kept the mercenaries at bay for some time. She only would have needed an hour and a single agent to complete the job. Having Archangel disappear now, no doubt snatched up by Shepard and whatever doomsday mission he had set himself on, did not bother her in the least. Nor did it bother her that the three largest mercenary companies on Omega had just lost their leadership, as well as a significant portion of their forces. Power vacuums rose from time to time. This one would simply be more chaotic than usual.

That was not what made her angry.

Not only this, but Shepard had also cleared a whole living sector of plague. Ordinarily, a good thing. Plagues mitigated the risk of overpopulation and rid Omega of unwanted tenants, but the Blue Suns demanded reparations for their losses against the vorcha. The Blood Pack of course denied any responsibility for the actions of their troops, but in this rare case they might be right. All reports she saw confirmed that few krogan had been sighted during the quarantine, and those that had bore no Blood Pact insignias. It had truly been a vorcha operation.

Which in itself was troubling, but hardly a matter that required her attention. She had made sure Gavorn knew about the matter and he had promised to look into it. His elite team of turian commandos could handle most vorcha trouble. All they had to do was walk into an area with their flamers and the vorcha would scurry away to cause trouble in a less hostile area. Sometime in the near future they might have to launch a culling of the vorcha population, but she did not want to think about that right now.

What she _wanted_ to think about, was how to manage the chaos that would follow now that all three major mercenary groups on Omega had been devastated. Shepard's team had thrashed them like a thresher maw tearing through a flock of cows. Each organization had contributed upwards of half of their forces into the fray. The Blood Pack had come away with the least losses thanks to a bungled attempt to breach the building that resulted in most of their force being locked out of the fight, but even so they lost Garm. The Eclipse lost Jaroth, a fleet of mechs and a good portion of their specialist troopers. The Blue Suns lost Tarak, a platoon's worth of men, and a gunship of all things. Considering the size of their 'garrisons' on Omega, those were heavy blows. All three had power vacuums now, and there would be trouble until those got settled. With luck, the gangs would promote from inside Omega. She hated breaking in new windbags.

A silent curse pushed against her closed lips as she pulled out the datapad and read it again. And then there was this news that had helpfully reached one of her secret accounts, delivered under a bogus extranet account that had existed for all of point zero five seconds before the message hit her inbox, then deleted itself just as quickly.

The pattering of feet announced the arrival of her lieutenants. The five thugs eased into the room, remaining silent as they watched her to gauge her mood. Had they read her thoughts, they might have turned and ran.

"Can someone explain to me how this got through the net?"

Her voice was deathly quiet, the commanding edge reaching the furthest corners of the room. The assembled lieutenants went still as corpses, sweat or their species' equivalent dripping down their faces. The krogan blinked slowly, eyes peeled as wide as he dared, afraid to flinch in the wrath of their blue-skinned master. Five powerful, hardened outlaws, experts in their trades, awaiting judgment like naughty schoolchildren.

"Nothing? None of you have an idea? A suggestion? A _clue?_ " Aria hissed and hurled the datapad. Her biotic-infused strength shattered the hard-case and spilled its components on the floor, a dent marking its impact against the repurposed bulkhead that served as one of the walls. One of the batarians swallowed nervously.

"Someone open your mouth and say something that will make me less displeased." Picking a less-bloody couch, she dropped down onto it and crossed one leg over the other, fixing each in turn with her scathing stare. One by one, they averted their eyes. Grizz opened his mouth as if to speak, but through better of it and remained silent. That was a first, she noted dourly. On any other day he would have said something, anything, just to break the silence. He was learning.

Again, they had no answer for her. And again, she knew she could not fault them. The commanders of the Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse had put significant effort in masking this idea. While her intelligence network was superb, and had thoroughly sunk its claws into the mercenary outfits, she was not omniscient. She just pretended to be; often that was enough to scare off any untoward thoughts or plans. In truth, there were many things about Omega she did not know, but that was because she did not _care_. This, she cared about. A plot by three of the recently most powerful bosses on her asteroid was incredibly care-worthy. She should be thanking the Goddess that Shepard's crew had finished them all off for her.

A glint of red hair in the mass of dead Blue Suns caught her eye. Her spy… former spy… Jentha. When no word had come directly from Tarak's second-in-command, she had known what had happened without needing to see the corpse. Without a doubt, Jentha would have reported the conspiracy to her after this Archangel mess had sorted itself out. But she had not lived long enough. A shame, Jentha had been useful in keeping the mercenaries in line. Watching the younger races changeover still took some getting used to. They lived such pitifully short lives even without the threat of untimely death.

The existence of this plot had not surprised her. It had not even worried her. It _had_ pissed her off. Petty and grandstanding fools made these sorts of plays from time to time. Often she had to merely crush one to send the rest scuttling for cover for a few decades. Not once had someone come even close to actually shifting her from her throne.

That did not mean she took her security for granted.

"I want this gap in my net filled by tonight" she told her minions, understanding full well that they would rush to throw more informants into the supposed gap. To be brutally honest with herself, she knew why they had missed it. This plan appeared to have been discussed by the top leaders of each gang only, in unrecorded conversation. No one had known outside of their immediate counsel, and her leech there now lay spread across a half-collapsed bunk bed missing half of her face and most of her right side. Electronic snoopers should have picked some of this up, but there was only so much they could do against this level of secrecy. She had never even thought them capable of having the balls to try such a coup as it was. But that did not excuse the fact that it had caught her unawares. If it were not for Shepard, things could have gotten ugly.

Not that she feared what would happen if the dolts tried anything. The entire staff of the _Afterlife_ doubled as guards. The dancers had pistols or submachine guns within easy reach, hidden in floor panels beside their stations. The bartenders had rifles or shotguns already loaded and ready to fire. Even some of the patrons were guards on orders to blend in. She had a constant flow of security coming and leaving the bar. That was part of her invincibility. No one ever knew how many men she had at her beck and call. But they could be certain that she had a lot more than they would.

In the end, it did not matter. Thanks to Shepard, the situation had fixed itself. His brief visit to the station had not disappointed from his sterling reputation as a troublemaker. Multiple engagements across the station, hundreds of mercenaries dead in said engagements, three companies beheaded, and he had even found time to cure a fracking plague. That one had been a surprise until she had learned his payment for the good deed had taken the crazy STG salarian doctor off of her hands. Again, something she would have thanked him for, had she been that kind of woman. With a single subordinate like Shepard, she could have Omega locked down for eternity.

"The _Normandy_ has left" her krogan thug mumbled, breaking the silence.

Ignoring his report, she dropped her gaze to pointedly stare at a datapd on Anto's belt. The bodyguard hastily unhooked it and handed it over. He had gone about collecting DNA samples to try and discover the identity of Archangel. The blinking green light indicated he had found something worth telling her. So why had he not volunteered the information yet?

 _Vakarian, Garrus_. _Palaven-born. Turian Hierarchy, service classified. C-Sec investigator, resigned._

 _Athame give me patience_ , she thought, tossing the datapad back at her bodyguard. Anto fumbled with it for a moment before returning it to his belt. Garrus Vakarian. Shepard's old crew member. Had he known that? Had this all been a play, a ploy? Any goodwill she might have had for the Specter vanished, washed away in a rising tide of fury. She looked like a fool. Unaware of the foes congregating in her shadow, clueless to the identity of the turian that Shepard had come here for. Goddess, she needed to shoot somebody.

Her gaze swept across her lieutenants, calculating which was the most easily replaced.

 **-v-**

 _Normandy SR-2_

"So we're diving left and right to avoid Garm. He's rampaging all over the room firing his shotgun, throwing furniture around like they're toys. And suddenly, Sergeant Kane just comes stalking into the room, with a sword drawn." Jacob mimicked a slashing motion for the benefit of his enraptured audience. "A sword! He goes right up to a krogan warlord with a sword, and cuts his head off while Garm's still trying to figure out what the hell is going on. My head was ringing, krogan shotguns go off like hand grenades, but I heard him say it; I've never seen a krogan more confused. He said, _You brought a sword to a krogan fight_."

A chorus of chuckles and giggles greeted the line. More than a couple heads turned to glance at the medical bay windows, left open for now, to look at the scowling Cadian inside. Doctor Chakwas had ordered him to remain for observation, saying that she hadn't spent four hours sewing his neck back on just for Kane to 'go lose it butting heads with the next person who looked at him funny.' A heavy round of tranquilizers had helped keep the man still, but his body burned through those and the painkillers alike with startling speed. It was as if his whole body existed in a permanent state of adrenaline rush.

Still, he had agreed to remain in the medical bay, and the doctor did not like leaving the windows closed unless discretion was necessary, so the Cadian found himself as the object of more than a few curious stares. And several interested ones too, Jacob thought to himself as he drew the crowd back in. The Cadian's mood had grown even more dour than before, though whether because of his wounds or the presence of aliens aboard, Jacob did not know. None of them did. But he had kept silent, and not caused any trouble yet.

Having Garrus in the same medical bay had not made it easy to keep Kane still. The man divided his time between glaring hatefully at the turian and paying as much attention to the comatose woman as he was allowed. Chakwas had handled the tension beautifully; the stories about her past with Shepard made it clear the elderly doctor was no slouch.

"He took down a krogan warlord with a sword" Kelly repeated, shaking her head in wonder. "That sounds like something out of old legends. An armored knight battling a dragon, you know."

"Yeah, if old legends also carried laser rifles. Saint George and the Dragon wouldn't have quite the same ring to it if he just shot the dragon dead." Crewman Patel took a long sip from her glass. "Although…" she cast a sneaky look towards the medical bay. "If his armor was a little more polished he could make a good prince charming."

"Easy there." Shepard slipped past the crowd, balancing three bowls in his hands. "Talk like that and you might scare him off."

Titters greeted the comments, and Patel's grin blossomed fiercely on her face. "Wouldn't want that. How'd he get wounded? You haven't gotten to that yet."

Offering a shrug, Shepard elbowed the access panel for the medical bay and disappeared inside.

"Ah, well that's the best part." Jacob slapped his chest. "Brunson and I looked at his armor after the fight. There were almost twenty rounds embedded in his carapace plates. He took those hits like they were bee stings. They threw everything at him, and he wouldn't have it. It took a Mantis to bring him down."

More than a few crew gasped in wonder.

"He should be dead," one muttered.

"Zaeed said he got hit because he was pulling Miranda out of the line of fire." Kelly winked at Patel. "That's pretty romantic, don't you think?"

"I assure you, there was _nothing_ romantic about it" a steely voice cracked, cutting through the mirth like a blade. The mess hall fell utterly silent as Miranda eased off of the corner near her suite, her cold gaze directed at Patel. The junior crew member gulped nervously at the executive officer's attention and hurriedly looked away. "Don't get your head in a twist, Miss Patel. He's a soldier, not some fairytale hero."

The silence quickly grew uncomfortable as the _Normandy's_ executive quickly went through the line, selecting her food with the usual dismissive air. On returning to the _Normandy_ , Miranda had wolfed down a pair of eezo-enriched nutrition bars to recover from the excessive use of her biotics. That had been her only indication of how exhausted the battle had made her. Now, mere hours later, she was grabbing a full-sized meal. It constantly amazed Jacob how much power she could draw on, just as it terrified him to think of how biotic-depender she was. Offering a curt nod to Gardner, she grabbed a wine cooler from the bar and retreated back to her suite. Jacob waited for the sound of her door closing before continuing, but it was clear the mood had been ruined. One by one, the crowd dispersed.

"Team comes first" Jacob said, ending it on a good note. "Kane has his faults, but out in the field he shoots straight and looks after his own."

The last of the crew wandered off, some lingering for second helpings before Gardner shooed them off. Jacob waited patiently for Shepard to reappear. The Commander had given them a break before assembling a debriefing, and he had made it clear there were important matters to discuss. The armory could wait a little while longer. Joker had announced the plotted course: The Citadel. Shepard was taking them back into the heart of civilization. They would not have an urgent need for weapons there.

When Shepard reappeared, his expression did not bode well. His jaw was set in grim determination, and his eyes finally showed the exhaustion that must have been eating away at him for the past few hours. They had all felt it once the adrenaline of combat had worn off. None of them had seen that intense and long a battle in some time. The other Cadian, Brunson, had come off the least affected, though he had taken his share of a pounding from the Blood Pact and Garm. Once seeing to his comrade, the younger Cadian disappeared into their room. Donnelly claimed to have heard his snoring down on the engineering deck.

"Grab Miranda" Shepard ordered, taking advantage of the emptied mess hall to fetch a beer from Gardner's selection. They were still on duty, but after a day like this, everyone needed a drink. "And Doctor Solus and Zaeed. Garrus, Kane, and Brunson can rest." Twisting the cap free, the Commander dropped the cap into the waiting receptacle and took a long swing of ice-cold lager. The relief that shuddered through his body made Jacob grin. Their leader was still human, despite the legends. But even a human could be legendary.

"Looks like you needed that."

"This?" Shepard chuckled dryly. "I need something a hell of a lot stronger than this, but it will do for now. How are you doing? You were hit too."

"Flesh wound" Jacob countered. "Nothing that a round of medigel couldn't fix. You?"

"Same" the Commander lied, surprisingly well considering Jacob had seen the swath of bandages under his uniform. As battered as the team had been, Shepard dared to pretend he had taken the lighter share. That was simply no true. But that was Shepard; it encouraged the crew to push his aura of invincibility. As long as he did not push his luck too far.

Rising from his seat, Jacob started towards Miranda's suite, only to stop and glance, reflexively, at the ceiling. It was a bad habit they were all picking up. "EDI, please summon the Omega team to the conference room, wounded and mentioned excluded."

" **I have informed them."**

"Thank you EDI." He nodded to Shepard. "If you're okay with that."

"Having an AI on board takes some getting used to" Shepard conceded.

They walked to the conference room in silence; Jacob had his own thoughts and concerns on hold until he could share them with the whole party, and Shepard nursed his beer with loving care. So many questions needed to be asked, but Jacob knew better than to waste the Commander's time by demanding answers that he would have to repeat in only a few minutes.

Doctor Solus had beat them to the conference room. It did not surprise Jacob; the salarian had taken to the ship's laboratory with glee, showering it with compliments on the expensive and advanced equipment the _Normandy SR-2_ had been lavished with. He had thought it prudent to not mention that Solus' incursion had effectively bumped Miranda out of there entirely. Though she had nothing against salarians, it was a small lab and the salarian was quite the talker. Jacob doubted any on the ship could stand to be trapped in a room with Mordin Solus for more than a day. Except Kelly, but that woman had the patience of evolution.

In preparation for their arrival, the salarian had already assembled a rough presentation on the Collector's swarm agent. Holograms flicked in and out of existence as Mordin muttered frantically to himself, ignoring their entrance completely, too engrossed in the wealth of new information he had been invited into. His right hand moved in a blur across his omnitool, changing slides and deleting or adding information to relevant notes. The salarian had set foot on the _Normandy_ less than a day ago, and he already appeared a week's work into his research.

"Ah, Shepard. AI, EDI, informed me my presence was requested. Have prepared presentation on Collector problem. Must say, delighted by complexity of situation. Omega plague kept skills refreshed. This is a challenge. Glad to be of service. Eager to assist."

"And we're glad to have you," Shepard assured the salarian. "Keep working, we're waiting on two more."

Eyeing the projections curiously, Shepard slipped into his seat, easing down at the last moment, a tightness cutting across his face as he settled in. "Looks like you've been busy."

"Oh, most assuredly. Cerberus does not skim on research and equipment. Top notch laboratory. Noted several designs stolen from leading proto-generation molecular advisories."

"Yes…" Shepard tossed Jacob a quizzical look. Jacob shrugged. He had not been a part of the _Normandy's_ creation. "That is one benefit of working for covert operations."

"Funny choice of words. Implies you no longer consider Cerberus a terrorist organization. Odd, considering history with them."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten any of that." Again, a look went Jacob's way. But this one conveyed more apology for Shepard's statement, as if absolving Jacob for the sins of his parent organization.

Jacob knew the stories.

Miranda arrived shortly, Zaeed near on her heels. The _Normandy's_ executive officer entered at a brisk pace, a datapad clutched in one hand, a half-eaten protein bar in the other. Her eyes held that intense glimmer of biotic exhaustion. That did not slow her down as she took her seat, cued her datapad, and began inspecting Mordin's work.

The mercenary sauntered in on his own time, clearly lacking the urgency of the others. Jacob's brows furrowed in annoyance at the lack of decorum the man showed, tipping his head towards the Commander before grabbing the nearest seat. His battered old Avenger rifle plopped down on the chair next to him. It had clearly seen better years. Zaeed's ugly red scar seemed an extension of his amused grin at the information flashing across the projection monitor. "If we're having a science lesson, I'd warn you I flunked out of primary school."

"Not immediately." Shepard nodded to Mordin Souls, who obligingly powered down the projector. The salarian continued to work from his omnitool, remaining on his feet, his muttering reduced to silent near-whispers as the quick-witted doctor both focused his attention and completely zoned them out. "We went down to rescue Archangel. I operated on the assumption that time was not in our favor, and we acted without a proper plan. While our objective was achieved, more than half the team took injuries, two were critically injured. While I am not complaining about the lack of fatalities, I know there is room for improvement. So I want questions, comments, and concerns regarding what went down. Doctor Solus, feel free to sit this part out, but I would recommend you listen in. At some point you will be taking the field with us."

"Understood, Shepard. A successful operation relies on integrated teamwork and professional proficiencies. It would be neglectful to not take this opportunity to learn more about your team."

The Commander nodded his thanks before continuing. "Zaeed, you are the newest addition. Thoughts?"

"Considering we were making it up as we went, we did pretty goddamn well." The grizzled mercenary let out a dry chuckle. "You have a hell of a team here, Shepard. There are clearly lots of rough patches, we operate like a band of incredibly talented hooligans; in this fight, that worked. But I see lots of room for improvement, namely in shared tactics and support. Everyone knows what they are good at, but there isn't much communication to take advantage of that, only to cover the holes when they arrive. We need to become preemptive; reacting to threats will only keep us alive for so long. Killing them before they present themselves will require training. If you have simulators on ship, we should put this away team through sessions."

Shepard's expression noted his agreement. Even Jacob could not dispute that claim. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. What the hell are those two blockheads with the laser rifles?" He tipped his head. "Experiments? Has Cerberus been working on a supersoldier serum?"

"They are from the future" Miranda interrupted. The mercenary shot her an odd look, but after a moment he merely blinked.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Jacob did not bother to hide his snort of disdain. "You believe it, just like that?"

"If Shepard or you had said it, no." Zaeed indicated Miranda with a gracious nod. "But she clearly doesn't kid around. I believe it. Don't understand it, but believe it. Figure the rest will sort itself out."

The armorer squinted at the man, seeking any sign of dishonesty, but the mercenary appeared genuine.

"That it?"

"I'm good" Zaeed admitted. "Nothing else that needs to be brought up."

Jacob was fairly certain that the next few seconds of silence came from the Commander's confusion over the mercenary's lack of outburst and outrage over the concept. If only the whole galaxy could take it so easily.

 **-v-**

The door closed behind Jacob, and Shepard dared to finally rub the tiredness from his eyes. His head throbbed. His whole body hurt like he had gone five rounds with a krogan. But he was not done yet. There was one more thing to be looked to before he could embrace the blessed release of sleep.

"Kane" he said, needing no other words to convey his intent.

"Yes" Miranda acknowledged, glancing up from her datapad. "Hold a moment. EDI, lock out outgoing feeds. This is a private conversation."

" **Understood, Officer Lawson."**

She tipped her head towards Shepard, indicating he continue.

"He is a fine soldier. Tore through those mercenaries like they weren't even there. I would have no compunction about bringing him onboard as a permanent member of the team…"

"Except that his rabid xenophobia is not going away in the foreseeable future."

"Exactly." Shepard inspected the empty bottle mournfully. He could allow himself one. Two was too many. "I cannot in good conscience take him along after what he did to the batarians."

"The batarian drew first."

Shepard hesitated, confusion clouding his expression. Before that initial reaction settled, Miranda continued. "The leader, he was turning, one hand on his sidearm."

A growl built in Shepard's throat, but he forced it down. "Are you lying to me?"

"No" she said with a scowl.

"Why did you wait until now to say anything?"

"Because tensions were high enough as it was, and I cared more for completing our objective than having a shouting match in the middle of a quarantine contact zone. Your medical readings were orbital, Shepard, during that entire encounter. Would it have helped to throw myself into that?"

 _No,_ he thought angrily. It would not have. Biting down on his anger, he took several breaths to buy himself time to form a reply. "You should have told me sooner."

"Had an opportunity presented itself, I assure you I would have. This business with Archangel threw us all for a loop. This was the earliest, most respectable time to mention it. Away from prying ears and eyes."

"So he shot the batarians in self defense, then?"

"One of them, perhaps." She shrugged. "The one hadn't even cleared his pistol before the Sergeant put a shot into his chest. The other two were still walking away. You could argue collateral damage, but I believe Sergeant Kane put his shots exactly where he meant to. As I believe he snatched at the opportunity to shoot them regardless of the intent."

Leaning back in his chair, Shepard spent a moment studying his executive officer. "I can't tell if you are defending him or accusing him."

"Merely stating facts and admitting conjecture, Shepard. Sergeant Kane wears his intentions on his sleeve. He is an honest man; the problem is that his beliefs are predominately incompatible with ours, and he is not afraid of upsetting that. He saved my life, yes. That does not make him my hero."

"Then what is your recommendation for him?"

Miranda hesitated. She had yet to come up with a plan herself. There were far too many variables for her liking. Too many unknowns to paint a clear outcome of any particular path. The most prudent, least volatile plan was also the one she disliked the most. "We keep him onboard."

The Commander's expression indicated he would not appreciate if she added a 'just kidding.' He scowled, not at her but at the idea. "That man is one recording away from being accused of war crimes."

"You work with Cerberus right now" Miranda reminded him. "And while I heartily disagree with your view of the organization, one could say you already are working with people that have committed war crimes. That being said, war is nothing but a series of crimes and atrocities. Would this one man change that?"

"He would if he were stationed on my ship, operating in my name and under my command."

"Your name isn't exactly spotless." She arched a delicate eyebrow, offering a neutral expression. "That is not an attack, by the way. But I have read your Alliance dossier. There are plenty who wanted you strung up for war crimes in your early days."

"Yeah. And then I grew up." He let out a grumbling curse and settled back into his chair. "And that's the rub, isn't it? I know where you are going with this. I was hot and mad when I entered the military. I know that, I admit that. I hated the turians for killing my father. I hated them for what they did to Shanxi. And I let that hatred control me, even as I rode it to N-7. You are going to make the comparison, I'm sure, to Kane. He claims to have nothing but hatred for the non-human races. And then you are going to propose that we give him time, have patience, see if we can fix him of that belief."

"Actually, I wasn't." Miranda inclined her head. "I was just going to say you must make your claims of moral superiority carefully. There is a reason I do not make decision based on what is 'right,' Shepard. In a world like this, no good deed goes unscrutinized. When you make a decision, make it wisely."

 _If only it were that easy_ , he thought bitterly

 **-v-**

 _I am a man_

 _Prone to weakness_

 _But I am a Guardsman_

 _Where weakness is death_

 _I will crush my weakness_

 _With the weight of my pride_

The words he knew by heart. It was a thing he had repeated to himself many times. In the young days of the Schola Progenium, he had whispered them during the long nights at attention where the proctors prowled the ranks for signs of sleepiness or weakness. In his early days in the Kasrkin, he had lifted the chorus high as they held the line against a raging Ork horde, their power cells depleted and reduced to throwing rocks and stabbing with bayonet blades. Now he voiced them in silent vigil, speaking the words less for himself, but for the wounded comrade lying on the medical table.

The ship's medicae had assured him that his healing was on record speed. It must have been; he could already feel the soreness of tissue and tendons that had been torn apart by the gunship weapons. Muscles that he knew had been severed were already connected and responsive. Their medicine was truly miraculous. At his private estimate, he would be fully healed and ready for combat by the end of the day.

If only the Imperium still had access to this technology.

As unbelievable as their medicine was, it had yet to bring Junior Commissar Blake to wakefulness. Her motionless body remained exactly where it had been for the last few days. The only changes, as far as he had seen, were the subtle shifts of her hair from the medicae's administrations of fluids and cleansing. Doctor Chakwas was thorough, and she was detailed.

"You know, a watched pot never boils."

The woman's words distracted him from his vacant musings. Blinking slowly, Kane turned to regard the medicae. The elderly medicae sat at her desk, poring over her datapad.

"What?"

"It's an old Earth saying, from before the invention of instant meals and thermic ovens. Back when you had to wait for the water to boil to put in your tea leaves. A watched pot never boils. Stop staring at the poor girl and find something else to do. She isn't going to magically wake up any time soon, and waiting for that to happen is only going to make time pass slower."

"I have no expectations of her awakening" he stated. "There isn't much else to look at in this room."

"Yes, well that is the downside of having a clean medical facility."

The Cadian grunted, a sound that was nearly amusement. "Not a chance you'd let me out, then?"

"Not until your trapezius muscles are fully reknit. I am not letting you out of this room if you can still tear a muscle turning your head." Her smile was sweet, yet had all the seriousness of a medicae hiding a muscle relaxer behind their back. "Your recovery would go much faster if you laid down and attempted to relax."

It was something she had told him numerous times. Lie down and relax. He doubted she understood just how hard that would be for him. As far as Kane was concerned, they were still surrounded by hostiles. After the incident in the quarantine zone, he had been expecting a delivery on the ultimatum that the commander had placed. It would come, eventually. He fully intended to be upright when it did. To be on his back would indicate submission. And that was unacceptable.

This whole thing was a damned trial, he told himself. A test whereby the God-Emperor would see his faithfulness. Corporal Brunson, to Kane's dismay, had taken to this new time far too easily for his liking. _A rootless tree falls before the storm_. The man was eager to please, and his faith was strong, but the naivety of this place was a succulent drug the man had tasted and found sweet. It was understandable for others. Those not raised in constant war clung to the peace wherever they could find it. He had expected better from a fellow Cadian. This would be a hard task, to remain loyal and upright, but he was confident they would survive. It did not matter where or how they found themselves. They were Cadians, and they would not falter.

Though he did wonder, in the privacy of his own thoughts, if this was something the God-Emperor could have foreseen. It was not unheard of for reality to be so bent by the Immaterium that time itself was altered. He held no delusions that He On The Throne took personal interest in the specific occurrences of men throughout mankind, he knew the tales and had himself seen instances where His power manifested in defense of humanity. Could this have been one of those times? It was no small comfort to imagine that the God-Emperor of Mankind had spared them the fate purposed for them, instead casting them back into the past. Perhaps there was a greater reason for it. Surely, if this was so, then he would have sent them here with a specific mission, a purpose that could be gleaned. For they were Cadians, and Cadians were weapons. Every weapon needed a target.

The Reapers.

It came to him so easily. He cursed himself for not considering it before.

A threat to humanity. A promise of great destruction that mankind was not prepared for. They did not know the true horrors of war on a galactic scale. It was easy to cling to this idea, just as a drowning man clung to flotsam. Kane held the thought for a moment, stewing the idea in his mind, before discarding it. The Reapers were a threat. They needed to be stopped for humanity to continue. But he sincerely doubted a divine purpose behind their arrival. The Warp was fickle and meaningless. Their arrival must have been a fluke, a rare eddy in the tides of the Immaterium that converged at this particular point.

Commander Shepard seemed to be one of the only agents of humanity that cared to face this threat. To do so he would have to fight alongside xenos. He would have to fight with them. The thought twisted his stomach with disgust. The xenos he had met here were pathetic, despicable. Less dangerous that those he knew, for certain. That was their only redeeming quality. If anything could convince him to stomach the impiety of such an act, it would be that. There was little shame in humoring rodents.

This would be a fight for the very survival of mankind. The threat coming was, in even his own thoughts, overwhelming. It was as if the Necrons had arisen, but with a fleet that could swallow whole systems at a time. And humanity was woefully unprepared. Only a few hundred years of spaceflight to prepare their navies, and even then they bowed to the restrictions imposed by a xenos council. Their most powerful 'dreadnoughts' were hardly the size of a proper frigate-class warship of the Imperial Navy. And there were… eight. A standard Imperium sector fleet could rout the entirety of the Systems Alliance navy without challenge.

In the purest of military mathematics, Kane knew the answer. The xenos. The turians had nearly five times the number of ships that the humans did. The asari had perhaps twice as many. They would need every ship to stand against something like the Reaper invasion. That was made so very clear by the Battle of the Citadel. A single Reaper vessel alongside a geth fleet had battled two full Citadel fleets and inflicted substantial casualties They needed more firepower than humanity had.

Humanity could not win this war by itself. Not without centuries of preparation and growth. And they did not have that much time, according to the commander. They had years, if even that. What Kane wouldn't have given for a handful of cruisers and a chapter of Astartes.

His hand tapped restlessly on his thigh. The hard click of his metal reminded him of the dataslate in his pocket. A dataslate brimming with thousands of classified military schematics, personal letters, historical studies. Schematics. His divine mandate had not changed; protect humanity. There was on way he understood how to do it better than the humans of this time could.

Pride was a great weapon, but it was also a bitter thing to swallow.

This one was going to hurt like hell.

"Ship" he called out, breaking the silence.

" **I have a name"** the intelligence declared, voice spilling from numerous speakers throughout the room.

Ignoring the AI's programmed indignation, Kane pulled out his own dataslate and activated it. "I need a connection port."

 **-v-**

"He did what?" Miranda half-rose from her chair, struggling to settle her mug of coffee before it spilled over her desk. She stared at Jacob, disbelief struggling to put the words in correct order for her to process.

"I can't really believe it either, but here they are." Jacob Taylor offered his datapad to the executive officer. A flowing schematic spun in the holographic projection. "EDI says he just told her to download the whole piece, take what was needed, and wanted your approval to send it to the Alliance for research and development."

"That…" she snatched the datapad and started scrolling, inspecting the specifications. Her shock was fading quickly, as it always did, but in its place came the incredulous flurry of excitement as new science presented itself. "This is manufacturing specifications for lasguns."

"He has the specs for that big pistol of theirs too. And the hellgun variants. And a host of support weaponry." Jacob's grin spread. "And that's just the personal weaponry. EDI had to decrypt most of the files, but she found schematics for armored vehicles and heavy artillery as well."

"Did he say why?"

" **He did not, Officer Lawson."**

She fought the urge to glance at one of the speakers. "What have you done with these, EDI?"

" **At Sergeant Kane's request, I have merely stored them in my databanks. He demanded that the command element of the ship decide how they be dispersed. However, I find myself compelled to inform you that he preferred this information be given only to the Alliance."**

"I'll be damned," Jacob muttered. "And I thought he was giving it just to us."

" **He informed me that his desire to protect humanity from the Reapers outweighs his desire to protect the secrets of his time. His quote was** ' _ **Humanity has too many bastards that would sit on their treasures while the galaxy burns around them.'**_ **It was a rather illuminating insight into his character."**

"Was it?" Miranda's attention devoted itself to the weapons schematics. "This is incredible. The majority of these materials we have not even discovered, much less theorized. How much is there, EDI?"

" **Kane's datapad has occupied twelve point four three percent of my data core."**

Jacob whistled. The _Normandy's_ operating software took up a single percent of her data core.

"That's a lot of information."

" **It is"** EDI confirmed. It might have been her imagination, personifying the artificial intelligence, but Miranda thought she heard a sliver of glee in EDI's tone. The AI must enjoy having so much new information to pore over.

"I need to take this to Shepard" Miranda decided. "Jacob, do you mind if I return this to you?"

"All yours" Jacob assured her. "That's an extra I picked up from storage. EDI wiped the entire thing before uploading the juicier bits of information for your perusal."

She tipped her head in acknowledgement and led him out the door. Her nerves were fairly trembling with anticipation as she hurried up to the command deck. Shepard was up there, no doubt having words with their pilot. The relationship between the commander and Joker was something she could understand, yet still disapproved of. Joker was a coarse, crude individual that surely would have been removed from his position had his skills at the controls not been exceptional. Her daily computer logs told her exactly how he passed time in the solitary confinement of the cockpit. She had already decided that if forced to let the _Normandy_ crash or take the helm from his chair, she would rather let the ship die. Ships were replaceable. Her pride was not. Otaku was the word, she was fairly certain. If not in literal translation, although that was accurate too, the derisive connotations were spot on.

The two men had served together on the old _Normandy SR-1_. The strain of hunting Saren had forged a close-knit bond between the survivors. Joker was the reason Shepard had been lost, of course. The commander had given up his place in evacuating the dying ship to rescue his pilot. It had been a terribly inefficient call.

Yet it had led them here.

Yeoman Kelly met her at the elevator entrance to the CIC. The chipper redhead smiled warmly at her exiting the elevator, balancing her ever present notebook on her hip, a cup of tea in her other hand. "Miranda."

"Kelly."

Her brusque greeting did not shake the yeoman's cheerful mood. "The commander is in his cabin. I assume you were looking for him."

"Yes" Miranda admitted. "How did you know?"

"John just radioed me and asked me to go down to medical and speak with Sergeant Kane. He wants me to have a sit down with the man. Thirty seconds later, you enter the bridge. It isn't much of a stretch to assume the two incidents are related."

"Of course not." Miranda offered a false smile. She tucked the datapad onto her hip, locking it in place. "Watch yourself around him, Kelly. He isn't like us."

"I am aware." Kelly took a sip of her tea, bobbed her head, and ducked into the elevator. Miranda turned to watch the doors close, idly wondering what the odds were that the ship's psychologist could make a crack in the Cadian's defenses.

For the hundredth time, Miranda wondered just what it was about Sergeant Kane that made her dislike him so much. It wasn't something she could explain. Not because he was so radically out of context to their reality. If it was that, then she would have the same unease around Corporal Brunson, but that one barely made her bat an eye. And it was not simply his attitude. She had dealt with far worse before, and he at least had the professional courtesy to acknowledge her abilities rather than look down on her for being a woman. No, it was that quality she could not touch, but could feel around. It was the subtlest current of wrongness. As if everything he said or did was slightly… off. Not quite aligned with how it should be. Standing in his presence made her skin prickle, her teeth itch. It was the same unnerving feeling of having unseen eyes boring into her skull. She had expected the sensations to fade over time. In the heat of battle, it was easy to ignore or forget. Here in the quiet of the ship, it bothered her. Distracted her.

Others shared her thoughts. Jacob liked the man, or at least tried to. The resident armorer had approached Kane with the attitude of a city boy greeting a country-bred neighbor. Kane was different, odd, but still a man. Differences meant little to Jacob, as long as a bridge could be built to cement them together. The man was loyal and honest to a fault. But even he admitted that Kane disturbed him. The fact that neither could pinpoint what caused that unease only laid more bricks on the foundation of mistrust she held for the man.

 **-v-**

"Sergeant Kane?"

Kelly entered the medical bay with a spring in her step. Doctor Chakwas had stepped out, leaving them alone. Well, not alone if you counted the comatose woman and turian occupying two of the beds. Both were right out, according to their charts. That was good; she wanted a true private conversation here. The thought of getting a look at the workings of this strange man's mind nearly sent a shiver down her spine. In her years of intensive psychology studies, she had thought to have encountered everything there was about humanity. Kane was an enigma wrapped in a mystery of cold, hard armor. The toughest nuts held the richest fruit.

"Yeoman" the hulking man greeted, glancing her way with the same guarded expression he had worn when they first met. His posture stiffened too, fingers clenching on the edge of the bed. It was a hereditary instinctive response. Fight or Flight. Odd that he considered her a trigger, but that was what made him so interesting.

"John asked me to come by and ask you some questions. To see how you are doing after the firefight." She turned Karen's chair about and sat down, placing her tea on the desk beside her, in easy reach. "Do you mind?"

"I'm here all day" the man grumbled.

Kelly did not know if the man spoke in jest or not. Waiting for a tic, a tell, she found herself disappointed in the monotone, humorless face he wore.

"Ah. May I ask how you are feeling?"

"Feeling?" Kane sneered at the word. "Is that what you people care about? _Feelings_."

"Emotional and psychological health are my concerns, Kane." Refusing to take offense, Kelly sipped at her tea and met his harsh stare. His eyes were quite mesmerizing. They held great anger, pain, and enough chaos in them to inform her without having to ask that Kane was a man of repressed emotions. "That _is_ why I am here, after all. It is my job."

"Well, if that's your job, I'll give you an easy answer." He offered a smile that held no warmth. "I'm fine. Wounds are healing faster than I could imagine, my weapons and armor are still intact, and the mission was completed successfully."

"That is a very simple way to view it" Kelly noted.

"I'm a simple man" was the gruff reply. "Your attitude and the crew's opinions of you inform me that you aren't going to leave until you get some sort of answers, so let me make this easy for you, Yeoman Chambers. When I was still in the womb, my father died on some Throneforsaken world fighting some Throneforsaken enemy. When I was three, my mother died in the cultist uprising. Being an orphan, I was enlisted into the Schola Progenium, whereupon I was raised from the age of three to become a stormtrooper, a _Kasrkin_. The best sort of soldier in the galaxy short of the Adeptus Astartes. I am thirty one Cadian years old, and I have more than a thousand confirmed kills. Twice that many unconfirmed. Twenty two wounds of note. Six promotions, one demotion, thirteen successful operations across four campaigns. Thirty six medals of various assortment. I would wager with full confidence that I have seen more combat than the entirety of this ship combined, twice over. So, please, ask yourself if my _feelings_ are in danger."

"You still consider us the enemy" Kelly mused, unperturbed by his words, though grateful that EDI was recording this on a private channel for later replay. This was the sort of conversation that would be pored over in the decades to come, of that she was certain.

"You are not of the Imperium."

"The Imperium does not exist here. You and your two comrades are all that remains of it. Do you intend to view this entire galaxy as your foe?"

"If needs be." Kane started to shrug, but stopped as a pained grimace lanced across his face. Letting his shoulder droop, he scowled and glance over at Garrus' body. "You are human, but you consort with xenos. That alone marks you as a foe, and untrustworthy."

That was something she was not willing to touch on yet. Xenophobia did not go away by confronting it head on. Instead, she went a different route. Looked for something easier to broach.

"You use the word 'throne' in your curses. And the phrase 'God-Emperor.' That is your god, I assume?"

"He is the God of Mankind." Kane's eyes narrowed, but he offered nothing more. "Your ignorance is forgiven because he has not yet revealed himself to humanity yet."

"What is he?"

"He is a god."

The man's blank response told her she was not asking the question correctly. Before she could rephrase the question, he asked one of his own.

"What are your beliefs, Yeoman?"

"My… beliefs?" She frowned and considered the question. It was not the kind of thing she would have expected him to ask. Perhaps that meant he was reaching out, stepping outside of his shell. "As in, what is my spirituality?"

"If that's what you call it" he answered gruffly. Kelly stared past him for a moment, organizing her thoughts as she processed how to give the simplest, most satisfactory answer.

"Personally, I haven't been much for belief in gods and spiritual beings since I was a child. But there are many diverse religious bodies throughout the galaxy. All species have a primary religion as well as several divergent branches, or in humanity's case entirely separate ones. Mankind's most common religion stems from an ancient Middle Eas-"

"I asked for _your_ beliefs." Kane's annoyed growl cut her short. "Not a summary of this time. Yours alone."

"Oh." She swallowed down her surprise, took a breath, and considered her words carefully. "Ah, well, I am not a very spiritual person. I guess I am open to the idea of a god, or gods, but I haven't found anything that tells me for certain they existed. What I do believe in, is good men and women. That when enough people try to do good and leave their mark on history, good things will follow. And I believe that we can find answers to most every problem in the world around us if we spend the time searching for it."

"So you believe in nothing."

"No, I-"

"You claim to believe in the inherent goodness of man? That doesn't exist." Kane sniffed and looked away, studying the cafeteria outside. "Humanity is a broken thing, Yeoman. It doesn't matter when or where you are. Placing your faith in a broken object is worse than placing your faith in an evil object."

"There are plenty of good humans out there. And other aliens too" Kelly countered.

"But not enough to stop wars, to stop slavery, to stop bickering and jealousies and murder." Kane blinked slowly. "You think that good things follow good people? Then explain these _Reapers_ that your Commander fears. Explain the batarians. Explain the geth the genocidal war that broke out between the quarrian race and the machines they had created. I've seen far too many good people die, and far too few evil men suffer. The universe does not care for good, or for evil. It isn't a being. It simply is."

"I understand you came from a time of"

"You understand nothing" Kane snapped, silencing her with the venom in his tone. "You are young, naive, and full of false hope that the galaxy spins in the favor of the righteous. It does not. So stop wasting my time trying to become my friend, or whatever the hell it is you are aiming for here, and leave me in peace."

 **-v-**

Shepard stared at the screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. The chrono on the display told him he had not typed a word in ten minutes. It felt like hours.

 _Unusual Findings_

 _Subj: Admiral Hackett, S._

 _I have attached a series of weapon schematics to this message. I cannot go into details as to how I came upon them, but I am obliged to inform you that this must be a priority for the Alliance. You will not be familiar with the design, or the manufacturers. However, I cannot understate the urgency with which they should be treated. They will revolutionize warf_

Revolutionize.

No, they would damn near flip everything they knew on its head. He had already thought up three dozen ways that small arms combat would never be the same. Laser weaponry, large scale and man portable. Kinetic shielding would become obsolete in a month. Tactical doctrines would shift wholly to fire multiplication and maximized destructive onslaught. The edge that krogan had enjoyed for centuries was gone. Kane's lasgun had torn through Garm's bodyguard like tissue paper. Everything they knew was about to change.

And his finger would be hitting the send button.

The morbid realization that he might be the man to set off an unimaginable domino effect made him feeling startlingly tiny and insignificant. How many more people would die because of one keystroke? It was utterly unlike any command decision he had ever made. Sending soldiers on operations was simple, direct, with visible results. Then years from now, who knows what the galaxy might look like with laser weapons in the field.

It was going to happen eventually, he knew. Omega had been a break for them. The areas they had fought had little footage recorded, if any, so any stories about the lasguns would be pure word of mouth or conjecture. But that would not last forever. Autopsies would prove the existence of the weapons. Some punk carrying a bodycam would catch live footage. Hell, just giving EDI the information had started the clock. EDI's creator, Cerberus, would get the information soon enough. And there was no way in hell he could condone letting Cerberus have these schematics, but not the Alliance.

 _Unusual Findings_

 _Subj: Admiral Hackett, S._

 _I have attached a series of weapon schematics to this message. I cannot go into details as to how I came upon them, but I am obliged to inform you that this must be a priority for the Alliance. You will not be familiar with the design, or the manufacturers. However, I cannot understate the urgency with which they should be treated. They will revolutionize warfare as we know it, and will play a key role in preparing us for the coming war._

He pondered the phrase. The coming war. Hackett would know what he meant. But anyone snooping in would take that a terribly wrong way. Sending a high-ranking Alliance admiral classified weapons schematics and speaking of a war. A smart snooper would know what Shepard meant. What else could the Hero of the Citadel be preparing for?

It was a risk. This whole damn thing was a risk. Odds were good this information would leak out somewhere on the Alliance side. But Hackett was his best bet that this would be put to the best use, the most secure use. The aged admiral knew how to keep his mouth shut, and which people to trust. If anyone would stand by Shepard, it would be him. Though he could not voice it, Hackett acknowledged that the _Sovereign_ had been no geth cruiser. He knew what was coming, and had forced the Alliance to invest in unpopular project to help prepare for what was to come. For that, he was hemorrhaging respectability and political leverage. But it would all be worth it once the Reapers arrived.

Shepard could not think of a better man to hand the schematics to.

"EDI, add the incursion scans data packet to this message."

" **Incursion scans data packet added, Shepard."**

Her answer was simple, uninflected.

"Send the message."

It was an entirely uncelebrated moment. The day Commander John Shepard shattered the balance of power in the galaxy. Unease roiled in his gut. For the briefest moment, a surge of dread washed across his mind. As if something terrible had just occurred, somewhere. He wondered how much he would regret this in the years to come.

A chirp on his omnitool alerted him to a visitor. Flicking his gaze across to the security camera, he allowed a grimace at the sight of Miranda Lawson standing impatiently outside his door. "Let her in" he told EDI.

The door slid open a heartbeat later.

"At my desk" he called out, knowing she would hear.

When she came around the corner, her eyes were doing that blitzing flicker across her datapad indicating she was speedreading something. Probably the email he had just sent off.

"So you have already made your decision, I see" his executive officer muttered, her expression hardening. Not out of anger, but something else. Quite possibly it was her irritation at how rapidly things were moving, and how she had no control over any of it.

"The Illusive Man is going to have access to this as it is" Shepard said with a shrug. "Better to send it off now and ensure the Alliance has at least a small head start."

"I assure you that this information will not be leaked from the _Normandy_. From the Alliance, you can bet on it. But not from this ship. As far as the Illusive Man has been informed, we picked up unregistered passengers after an anomalous ion storm. I have a detailed report ready to send, but not until you give your seal of approval." She leaned against his desk, and set the datapad in front of him. "To be honest, I don't know how to explain this through a message. This requires a conversation, and you should be there for it."

"I appreciate that." Shepard meant it. "But how can you be certain that there isn't someone else sending him reports?"

"Oh, there are at least three." She waved her hand dismissively. "You have to understand, neither Jacob or I were intended to be on the _Normandy_ in the original plan. Our arrival shifted things, but even then the Illusive Man would have backups and spies in place. We are an intelligence organization, after all. I would wager that his informans are not aware of their subterfuge. Crewman Goldstein regularly attempts to dump data logs to a redundant net server to minimize clutter on EDI's system, but that server is linked to a research outpost on Kataar. Crewman Hadley has sent five heavily encrypted transmissions to an unknown receiver since we left Alchera, four of which I have in holding. The fifth was merely a birthday card to her mother, but the others are suspicious. Timing and such."

"And the third?"

"Well, that would be me, of course.


End file.
